


Hide your face so the world will never find you

by ivanolix



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Canon - TV, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Character Study, Child Death, Childbirth, Children, Dark, Developing Relationship, Drama, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Married Couple, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Parenthood, Politics, Redemption, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Wordcount: Over 50.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 77,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Kahlan does not have a son in the "Reckoning" future-verse. Her forced marriage to Darken turns out to be more complicated than she expected—for the both of them—and a decade of ruling and parenting and living together brings about changes they didn't want or plan for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have slight issues with the characterization of both Kahlan and Darken Rahl in the episode Reckoning—mainly Darken Rahl's goal and Kahlan's reactions. This fic "corrects" a couple of moments from that episode that I considered OOC, and is therefore an AU of an AU. **WARNING** : Just as in the episode, this is a fucked up situation, and this fic does not a) completely fix it, or b) condone it. This fic contains dub-con, flawed POVs, and characters not getting what they deserve.

"Then I will be your queen."

His Mother Confessor. A prize cast in iron and steel and then sheathed in white marble, resting chill and unresponsive in his grasp. Proud. Intelligent. More kind than shrewd, which he would take advantage of but did not find unattractive. Whether it was weak or not didn't matter, now.

She was his prize. He let the words, her submission, sink under his skin.

Lip quivering despite the hard set of her jaw, she did not quite quake under his gaze. And he watched, fingertip tracing the line of his mouth, not responding in words to her concession. At last he smiled. She flinched. That would have to change. In his victory he would accept nothing less than his due.

He flicked his fingers towards the nearest guard. "Take my bride-to-be to the royal chambers and see that she is attended to." When the man gripped Kahlan's arm tightly, however, Darken said in a voice that started sharp and faded to a forced calm, "Gently!" She did not deserve abuse.

He had decided that long ago. Rising from his throne, still savoring his triumph, the entire future lay out before him. His to command, to shape, like clay under nimble potter's fingers. It would not hurt him to make her happy. He glanced down the hall, finger tapping his lip. No, it would not hurt. And it would certainly not hurt his future heir.

All is fair in love and war. But without either, magnanimity seemed the virtuous—attractive?—option.

*

Darken disliked being handled. Too many people handled him.

Sometimes he relished when they misjudged the situation, and he could lash out. Kahlan hadn't. Darken wasn't sure she would. He wasn't sure he'd find any pleasure in lashing out at her if she did.

Yet he would not be handled. She stood like an icicle in her white gown outside their boudoir, while the sun set to mark their wedding night. Her eyes were as dark as her hair in the moment, in the shadows.

"Shall I wait for you in bed?" The tight lines around her lips, which he imagined were pale beneath the painted color she wore, betrayed all he needed to know. She would offer, so he could not take. Give, so that he would be satisfied with the end result, and she would still hold a shred of control.

Never. In this chess game he would not let her play all the roles of a queen. Voice soft, he allowed himself no anger as he met her gaze and answered, "Only if you wish, Kahlan."

Her back stiffened like a cobra recoiling. Darken wasn't surprised. To be given choice when only one proper option existed galled. He savored that most precious flavor of control and watched Kahlan's eyes darken. She would keep her promise, and she would not be able to blame such choice on him. There was always a way out. The game did not intrigue him if there wasn't, no matter how sure he became that she wouldn't use it.

Kahlan did not know him well enough yet. For the sake of her people she did not want to risk his displeasure. After a few seconds her answer came firmly; no shyness from the Mother Confessor, no matter the situation. "Then I will be waiting."

A small smile crossed his lips. It would take far more than an empty bed tonight for him to hold a grudge. But he liked that she did not know that. He would like to have her in his arms, too. For her submission without shyness or guile, he would be gracious. She deserved it.

*

Stripped of her wedding dress, a slight breeze wafting her short shift up around her thighs, Kahlan stared into the mirror and twisted her hair around her fingers. This night would be wrong. Like primitive days when the marriage bed was seen as a place where women only did their duty. Where equality and mutual pleasure had no purpose.

It was backwards. She hated it.

Yet here she was. Queen to a corrupt realm. Darken Rahl's wife in all ways. Hatred was an easy commodity, but she would not make this harder on herself than it had to be. He would not have the satisfaction of breaking her.

Biting the inside of her lip, she let her hand find her left breast, nipple already hard with the chill in the room. Cupping the soft, sensitive flesh, she closed her eyes and thought of Richard. Of his rough hand where hers was. Of the paradoxical gentleness of his touch. The pleasing warmth started to spread almost before the thought ended, and her other hand slipped between her legs to urge its growth.

She might be a virgin bride, but Kahlan was neither blushing nor ignorant. With agile fingers, she prepared herself for what awaited in Darken Rahl's bedchamber. For the facade of love she had promised for the sake of her people. Her body would be his, willingly, and she did not want to come unprepared. The heat in her loins started to burn, and she breathed steadily to keep her mental focus. This was all she would do. The hurt would be in her heart, not her body, when this night was through. She had reason enough to hate her husband.

The flush of arousal helped keep the chill at bay when she stood at the foot of their marriage bed, waiting, arms at her sides and back straight. It still took an effort not to flinch when Darken moved from the shadows, nearly silent, to wrap his arms around her waist and press her body against his. His lips were soft on her neck, his hands not rough when they slipped up to clasp her breasts.

Kahlan would not be seduced, though. Swallowing the noise in her throat, she did not wrench away but merely bent forward, eyes closing. "I'm ready," she whispered, hands finding the bed to keep herself from falling over. She could barely believe she spoke the words.

For a moment he didn't move. He didn't need to say the same, she could feel it against her hips as he held her. What was he waiting for? He couldn't possibly be trying to find words...what could be said now?

"You never imagined Richard having you like this." It was a silky smooth statement, not a question. Darken Rahl fit against her, voice barely audible as he followed her movement until her breasts touched the bed and her back met his chest. "Does that make it easier or harder?"

She tensed. Hearing that name, _his_ name, made her throat tighten painfully. "I'm not here to answer taunts. If I am your wife—" she couldn't help but spit the words, despite the vulnerability of the situation— "then I demand respect."

Darken Rahl chuckled behind her. The lack of mockery was almost worse than his previous taunting. He liked her response. He genuinely _liked_ it, damn the man. "Respect is always yours at my hands, Kahlan," he murmured into her ear. "Gentleness and pleasure too. There is no need to rush, unless that's what you truly want. I will not mind however long it takes to make you scream in delight."

Kahlan had to purse her lips together to keep from spitting at him, telling him that she wanted this to be over, that she wanted this fake life to be over. What she didn't want was his anger. Hands gripping in the sheets before her, she kept her voice level. "Take your pleasure. I care not for my own."

For a moment she thought she felt him tense above her, as if her words found a mark. But for a moment only. He heeded her words, as he said he would, and she breathed not one word of protest. Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor, was the wife of Darken Rahl in all ways.

*

Idle fascination easily turned to purpose if you didn't hold it in check. The moment Darken found himself thinking of Kahlan when she was not in the room, of a certain _something_ in the way she handled herself, he knew there was no going back to mere curiosity. Obsession he knew how to deal with better, in any case.

But it had to be orderly. Precise. He was no wild man, living on pure instinct and emotion. He had to know the cause.

What was it? Defeated, his, why did he care? The taste for darkness on his tongue had demanded the bitterness she now held, but after that...after that, he still held an interest. Hand clenching and unclenching for a moment, the doubt plagued him that maybe the cause was less than strategic.

Only for a moment. All doubts lasted only for a moment. There was always a cause. Always a pragmatic reason. The world worked best that way.

Kahlan stood not only for the Midlands, but for his brother. He had won over her and yet there was still a hollow in his breast. Revenge could fill it. He could feel whole again, if he had the best revenge. Kahlan. Representing two birds that he could take with himself, the one stone. And what did he want from her in more than metaphor? More than spoken loyalty.

One morning as he left her still slumbering, as his eyes left once again the tight curve of her lips, it became clear. She would come to his arms one day, he vowed, because of more than duty. He wanted her desire. He wanted her love. And even knowing that it would take more than a kitten to make her soften like butter in his hands, his mood was not ruined. Kahlan would love him in the end, and the revenge would be sweet and tart just like her taste when she kissed him.

He could wait for that end. Oh how he could wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Peace didn't bore Darken Rahl, surprisingly enough. His taste for violence, blood, was sated by the order in his life. For now.

And no longer had he any need to spend nights ruminating over strategy, counseled only by moon and stars, his blood restless as victory evaded his complete grasp. Instead, state policies occupied his days, leaving precious few hours in the evening to focus his own thoughts.

The change fascinated him.

It brought an amused satisfaction, the banality of it. He even had a wife to come back to. Yet Kahlan was no relief. She was still a challenge, and deliberately so.

Since their wedding night he had only touched her twice in the two months, each time the midwife had informed him she was fertile. The way she held onto her hatred so that he could almost feel it spiking along his skin when his hand rested upon her, told him that it would only grow if he showered her with attention. The bed was no way to woo Kahlan Amnell.

"Do you require me tonight?" Every time the same words, and he wondered if they kept her sane. Head held high, muscles taut in her neck, bracing herself.

Never a smile nor a frown would he give her. Just a simple, "No."

Lips pursing despite her relief, it was clear that his refusal kept surprising her...almost rankling that confessor's chill that she wore above all garments. He stopped wondering if it kept her sane, and started to wonder if it was the opposite. To try the same tactic over and over, though never receiving the expected result. Why? Why indeed.

Yet disinterest was not the path to her heart either. She was stubborn, inventive, determined. Left alone, she would not wither but merely form a new life. He needed her close. He wanted her close.

He never offered her the private quarters that his mother had used. Their bed was large enough that they could spend an entire night without drawing close enough to one another to feel warmth, but it was one bed. His bed. Their bed. When she slid under the covers, back facing him, it could hardly escape her notice. Always he was there, her husband.

Plan or no plan, it was no real challenge to his way of life, this slow wooing of Kahlan. She spent her evenings alone—he usually spent them with one of his Mord'Sith, Triana or Garen or even Dahlia. They could not match Denna or Cara, but he would not waste time on nostalgia. Pride and eagerness were enough to get his blood boiling, and whether above or below him their stamina was perfection. It did not take long to slake his desires, and when Kahlan would come to bed he would say only a quiet goodnight. If she understood why, she didn't let on, not then.

He doubted she expected anything less. He would make her question those expectations, but only in good time.

*

Kahlan thought hate would be easier. Every day she looked to the sunrise, felt the faint warmth on her cheeks, and thought of Richard—but the expected rush of bile and rage towards the man who had forced him out of her reach never came.

Nothing came. Sometimes she had to put her hand over her chest to make sure her heart was still beating. To hate, she started to understand, one had to have an end in sight. A way to find satisfaction. But even if she sliced Rahl from gut to throat as they slept, it would not bring Richard or freedom back to her.

He had been right about one thing, her detested husband: she couldn't be selfish. Even if she wanted to. It required too much. So she did as every Mother Confessor before her had done, and settled for duty. It could have been worse. He didn't hit her, demand that she pleasure him, or torment her. Her movements were not hindered, so long as she spent every night in their room. She could advise the Midlands the way she chose, as long as she fomented no rebellion.

The people were satisfied with peace after too many years of finding loved ones in pieces. Kahlan could find satisfaction too. For now.

Or she could have, if it was merely a loveless marriage she was bound to.

Kahlan had assumed Darken merely lusted after her body, when he first named his price for her freedom. That was disproven. For a man who was rumored to lust after the darkest things, it made Kahlan suspicious when he even refused her grudging offers, and only sought her intimate company when she might conceive. But she didn't push the subject.

She then presumed that she was his political pawn, a symbol of an alliance that he wanted to secure his forced occupation of the Midlands. Her image, not her looks, were what attracted him. Or so she'd told herself for a while.

He started to annoy her, then.

For a man who made no secret of his desire to rule the world, Darken Rahl was an enigma. A complexity wrapped in a plain veneer.

He looked at her, piercingly, and she wondered if he wanted her. But then he glanced away, and as usual she was not called to his bed. After days with barely a word spoken between them, he asked how the Midlands were doing, and if the land was starting to recover.

"It would recover more easily if the people could share some of the luxuries of your troops," she responded boldly.

A quirk of an eyebrow, a nod of his head, and in a matter of days she was watching the wagons of supplies roll out of the Palace gates. Conservative numbers, but the people flocked to her court to bow their heads and thank her for her generosity as well as justice.

It wasn't making sense. He had won. He could live as he chose. Why did he choose _this?_

Sometimes she wondered what she would choose. Without Richard, without her sister, what would full freedom give her that this life could not? She was empty as a drum. Happiness could not be forced. Darken Rahl had been empty long before she was, so maybe now he settled for victory as she settled for duty.

But then why...why give her everything she asked for? Why would he not make _sense?_

Kahlan couldn't even blame him for her bad days. She hadn't seen him since breakfast, so her headache, though distracting, could only be random. Unless...but no, she couldn't be with child. Though he only slept with her when she might conceive, Confessors always knew. She wasn't.

Still, the aching pain behind her eyes made her skin feel taut, her Mother Confessor's smile become forced even to the most blunt of eyes. Before the evening was done she slipped from her dress, wrapping herself in a soothing silk robe and ignoring its blood-red hue. Sleep, her body demanded. Darken would not begrudge her a night without his frustrating goodnight ritual.

When she pulled open the door, silent on its well-kept hinges, the sight of their bed made her dig in her heels and stop short. Too surprised to pass judgment, her eyes locked open in a shocked stare.

Where she had expected to see orderly sheets and a coverlet, she couldn't focus on the mess of bedding because of the contrasting naked flesh in its place. Darken Rahl, head facing away from her, lay back in the middle of it with a woman astride him. By the long braid swaying at her back, she could only have been one of the Mord'Sith, but that thought failed to keep Kahlan's focus when her eyes were caught by the glimmering sheen of sweat along the woman's pale freckled skin, her firm ass gyrating as she rode Darken into the sheets to the soundtrack of heavy breathing and throaty moans.

For a few seconds, Kahlan didn't distance herself, and the sights and sounds sent a swift rush of blood to her hips. Then to her cheeks. Her lips, parted in shock, closed as she forced her jaw to tense, and hissed in a swift breath.

She was insulted.

Why take a wife if he didn't want her charms? No, that was not the right question—how could he taunt her by making her sleep where moments before he'd bedded another woman? It was not just insulting, but degrading. Yes, and more than that, Kahlan hadn't expected it.

Maybe her mind still worked by the rules of Confessor morality, but she'd assumed that with marriage came a semblance of fidelity. The way Darken had spoken of her, looked at her, seemed to confirm that she was indeed a _wife_ of some kind.

And for all that she hated him, she assumed that he was hers. Unwanted and yet faithful.

The Mord'Sith grunted her exertion and then laughed as Rahl grabbed her hips tight before letting out a sound of release that was new to Kahlan. With her he had always kept silent. The woman rocked over him slow and steadily before Kahlan realized that her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and she shouldn't be watching. She cleared her throat.

The Mord'Sith glanced over her shoulder with a surprised and amused expression. "A threesome, Lord Rahl? Why I had no idea..."

Kahlan saw a startled look in Darken's blue eyes as they finally saw her, and a lightning quick rotation through several emotions that made her feel even more uncomfortable than before. But then he pushed at the woman's hips still straddling his own, tone low and firm, "We're done, Mistress Garen. Return to your sisters."

"As you wish," the Mord'Sith said with a nod, and gathered her leathers swiftly.

Kahlan didn't want to meet her husband's eyes, not while discomfort made her insides twist and her headache worsen, but neither did she want to cast her eyes on the naked form departing with a handful of red leathers. She just wanted sleep. Sleep and forgetfulness. And anything that would get rid of the strange bitter taste in her mouth.

Darken sat up slowly, not covering himself, nor making any attempt to hide his sated appearance. His eyes had settled to the cool deep hue she well knew, gaze piercing again. "Shall I call for a change of sheets, Kahlan?"

The casual sincerity, nearly emotionless as it was, only made Kahlan's mood worse. "No. I imagine I've slept on sheets like these before."

His eyebrow raised slightly as he shifted to one side of the bed. "So you have."

Kahlan didn't need the confirmation, but somehow she was glad to receive it. Moving to the opposite side from him, she ignored everything and straightened the bedding. If Darken looked to her or expected any further words, he got none. Eyes closing as she turned her back to him as usual, she said the curt words that were their ritual and focused on sleep.

"Good night," he repeated to her back.

Sleep did not come as easily as that. Her headache must be inhibiting her judgment, because she didn't care. What Darken did when he was out of her sight did not matter to her, as long as it didn't hurt her. As long as it kept him from her. But as sleep claimed her, it felt like hurt pride, and she realized that she needed to try harder. She needed to hate more, lest this life make her weak.

*

After the fourth month, Darken found frustration attacking his carefully built defenses. He wanted an heir. For as much as this game of luring Kahlan to him satisfied a dark urge for competition, another part of him itched to have her bear his child to pass along his line.

To have a family, as was Rahl tradition. Only he would not turn his child against him. He was not as all Rahls before him, not least in his choice of bride.

But Kahlan did not conceive.

Frustration simmered, dislodging darkness that had settled ever since he'd made peace for D'Hara. This wasn't the life he was supposed to have.

During her next fertile time, he gave Kahlan more attention than she asked for. She was always quiet and passive in his bed, and he let her, being patient enough to wait for his plans to succeed. But he needed more. It rankled at him that he could not _control_ this. A child would come or it wouldn't, and it was not in his hands. No matter how skillfully he touched her, no matter how much she arched automatically and gasped in unwanted and unexpected pleasure, no matter how much he poured his frustrated longing into their joining—it was out of his hands.

Darken Rahl hated anything that was out of his control.

It would have been simple to slip a potion in her drink. Too simple. The more he obsessed, the more Darken told himself that he had time. He was fighting a war he was sure to win, unlike last time. Winning Kahlan's unwilling heart as his prize, passing his name on to a child from her womb, they did not have to happen this year. Or the next. Or the next.

Even so, he did not deny his impatience. He was only human.

Every time he and Kahlan shared more than a bed, she pulled away as soon as he would let her. Repressing as always the sickeningly childish urge for more intimacy, he never pushed the point. It would serve neither plan's purpose. This night, Kahlan was quiet as always, murmuring "I'm tired" and turning her back to him as she fell asleep. Or so she wanted him to believe. It was a game they'd been playing for six months now.

Darken knew his wife better than she wished him to. It was not hard, for anyone who cared to pay attention, to see when the constant tension finally left her limbs and sleep truly came upon her. Sometimes it would be hours before that moment, but Darken always waited.

She made an achingly perfect picture, creamy-white limbs laid in perfect arrangement on the blood-red sheets, her dark hair falling over back and shoulder in gently-tousled waves. All he could see, though, was the flat plane of her stomach. He wanted their child. There, where smooth skin covered lean muscles—there was where their child should be right now. A babe with eyes as blue as the midsummer sky, with Rahl blood in her veins. (A son would be too great a risk, he'd decided, too much a wild card.) He was no saint, but why could he not have this much at least? The one thing he could not take, the universe would not stoop to give him?

His fingers twitched slightly, and he didn't bother resisting the urge to slip closer to her. Body still warmed by the vigor of their joining, he did not dare slip too close, lest she feel him and wake. Yet, propped on one elbow, he carefully reached his other arm over her waist and splayed his hand over her belly, sending a demand—fine, a _wish_ —to whatever power put children in wombs.

Kahlan flinched.

Of course she did. Even not knowing it was his hand, she recoiled—always she kept reminding him how they were just light and dark sides of the same coin. Touch, loving or no, was a surprise. Unwelcome because it was unexpected.

He could make it worse for her, overloading her senses until all she knew of touch was from him. The dark desire to _hurt_ wasn't gone, and he could bring it to life. But he decided not to. It...didn't feel right. He would touch Kahlan, but not to cause her discomfort or pain.

Darken kept his hand on her belly, stubbornly, until she relaxed into full sleep once again.

This time he did not tell himself it was a childish need, to feel skin against his own.

*

Kahlan instantly recognized that the new feeling in her womb was quickening. Her heart first leapt as she thought of Richard and how this child would save him—then twisted as she realized that she indeed bore Darken Rahl's child.

But surely the man's taint could not be carried in his seed.

Sunlight glittered through the tall window by their bed, and Kahlan breathed and considered the new life growing within her. She was Mother Confessor indeed. Just as Darken would now be Father Rahl, and would be a fool if he didn't use the image as propaganda.

Every victory came with a cost.

She twisted her fingers in her lap, in the thin muslin and silk of her nightgown. No more pretending that this was only temporary. Queen Kahlan Rahl had reigned for the last eight months, but in her heart she'd been floating free, not quite rooted. Now she was fixed for the next 60 years, her child both the key to her chains and the ball weighing them down.

Finally the sun rose above the window and no longer warmed her back. It was mid-day, and Kahlan rose at last to dress and bathe with the help of her servants. Once her hair was done up, careful curls arrayed regally, she went alone to her husband's court.

"Mother Confessor," he said without meeting her gaze, once the latest petitioner had left. He never used her given name in public. She noticed, but told herself she didn't care. Why should she?

Quietly she crossed the room to stand by his throne, waiting for his gaze to lift. When it did she didn't move, keeping her hands at her sides as she spoke simply. "I'm with child."

His expression held onto the usual walled, defensive quality for a few seconds longer than made her comfortable. Kahlan's heart faltered momentarily before she saw Darken relax, relief spreading to every line of his hardened face. He sat up a little straighter. "You're sure?"

She forced a small smile. "A confessor always knows."

His didn't seem forced at all. How did he manage it, such sincerity? It rankled her. Darken didn't rise from his seat, but his hand found one of hers and half-entwined with her fingers. The intimacy made her want to shudder, but she swallowed the urge. His eyes stayed locked on her belly before he murmured, "I will see to it personally that you have the best of care. Whatever you desire."

Kahlan hesitated before answering, taking the moment to soothe the sharpness. "There's no need. I'm the Mother Confessor, I expect no luxury."

Her husband finally rose from his throne, though he kept his fingers tangled with hers. He stood close to her, and the little smile on his lips threw her detachment for a spin—everything about him upset her expectations just enough to make her frustrated. "Whatever you desire, as long as you and our child are well cared-for."

"Of course," she murmured with far less emotion.

A few moments later, she made her smooth exit. He'd given her a kiss on the cheek before letting her leave, and Kahlan felt the warm imprint for longer than she wanted. Of course he would be summer-warm when she wanted winter-cold, just as he was cool when she was ready to submit to his warmth. Of course.

It should scare her, the broken and casually rearranged nature he portrayed. If Darken Rahl had ever been whole, it had been long before the world started to take notice of the man. The consistent, backwards, unsettlingly emotional way he approached the world should do more than annoy her.

Annoyance was all she could muster, though. How could she truly fear a man who had only a smile when thinking of his child? Fear would have to wait for the other shoe to drop. He was still a soul too broken to be repaired, so it was only a matter of time.

So far, time had turned initial fear and hate into irritation. She would not complain for as long as it lasted.


	3. Chapter 3

The role was seductive, almost erotically so at moments. A smile here, a touch there, an emotion let loose when his mind screamed to hold tightly. Of all the ones he'd played since childhood, this role required the least amount of hiding. He discovered, ironically, just how little of his life was really taken up by scheming.

But a little went a very long way.

He allowed himself to touch Kahlan more once her belly started to show. The swell wasn't noticeable to anyone else; only his eyes knew every inch of her, no matter the distance between them, but he took advantage of it. They had not shared marital relations since she conceived, and he thought a few caresses would hardly overwhelm her.

They almost did overwhelm _him_. Kahlan's skin was softer than any he'd felt, and the little rush of connection as he sat by her side and stroked her stomach came automatically. He let it. There was no harm in enjoying the role, as long as his goal was met in the end.

"Have you been feeling well?"

She sat very still as he ran his fingers around the slight curve that marked where their child grew. Still, but not frozen. That was different. His little smile at that could mean whatever she wanted it too—he cared not.

"I have, my lord."

Someday he would have her use his name, as he used hers. But not yet. Darken gave his wife's belly another stroke, eyes following the movement of his hand. Almost, he asked her to remove her nightgown. His fingertips itched for more intimacy, but he settled for the warmth he could feel through the thin fabric.

It was not a mere act when he forced himself to pull away. This role was addicting...it was the same, and different, from every one he'd played before. He wanted her. When he finally won her, it would not be merely an abstract triumph.

But he shook the thought from his head, rising from the mattress to prepare for another day of distance between them. Slipping into his small-clothes, he said without looking back to her, "Mistress Kellan of the midwives said that you did not take the draught she prepared."

"It was unnecessary. I felt no sickness."

Darken turned with a hint of a smile on his lips. "We can hope that our daughter will inherit your strong constitution."

It pleased him that she didn't flinch at his smile. And the slight cock of her head, as if demanding an explanation for it, was such a Confessor thing to do. He had a catalogue in his head of such things. They were unexpectedly attractive.

The rest of the small talk was entirely without purpose. To tell the truth, he grew tired of words. What was unspoken mattered so much more, and there was more than enough of that to decipher already. Not nearly enough when it came to the language of touch, but he stole what moments he could.

In a way, they only increased the craving. It wasn't part of his plans, to want a wife he could touch—just that, just touch—and he turned to physical pleasures to distract from the weakness.

Pleasure was a drug. In the moments when blood ran hot, when he was lost in the body of a woman, the world was perfect as he imagined. Kahlan's sweet thighs around his waist, her skin against his, a pure intimate joining—it was not an ideal marriage, but he'd never expected that. It was enough.

The drug lasted only moments. He would call out her name, the warm whisper of "Kahlan", and then release would crest and fall. Darken was used to reality, but those moments of hedonistic imagination were a guilty pleasure he would not give up. Everyone deserved a break from reality. Eyes still closed, he caught his breath and let himself fall slowly back to earth.

"My lord?"

He fell faster than intended. Mistress Triana, lying breathless and sweaty beneath him, stared at him with dark befuddled eyes, her question hanging awkwardly in the heated air around them. Darken wanted to hiss at her, strike her, for catching him off-guard saying Kahlan's name aloud.

The role he played of decent husband had tainted him with weakness in more areas than he intended. Too much honesty. Not even his faithful Mord'Sith were allowed to know that he would prefer to sleep with his wife, but _could_ not. All for a plan that he controlled, but still, they couldn't know. Lord Rahl having to resort to _fantasies_ was unacceptable knowledge for anyone to have.

Jaw tight, he rolled off the Mord'Sith and gave her a shove. "Leave."

Triana didn't protest. She was experienced to know when it was time to pretend that nothing happened. Gathering her leathers from the floor, she started to lace them on.

Her presence reminded him too much of the momentary weakness. "Leave now," he amended.

So she left unclothed.

This role of being in love with Kahlan Amnell was seductive, but Darken didn't like feeling as if he was falling for his own trap. No matter how lovely a picture the trap presented.

Kahlan was only one goal in his life. She would not become his life.

*

She felt a little flutter—that she told herself was fear—when her child kicked right at Darken's hand. He smiled, proudly, and Kahlan again had doubts about her plans. She had not counted on her husband paying attention to their child.

"The child has her mother's strength already," Darken Rahl said as he rose to his feet, though leaving her hand on the generous curve of her stomach.

Would that strength be enough to see past the proud attention her father would show her? To see the monster beneath? Yet maybe he would not be a monster to their child; even tyrants could have moments of goodness. No. No, that was foolish. Not him.

He was still looking at her when she brought her thoughts back into focus. "You have made me so happy, Kahlan."

They were the last words she expected to hear from him. Her throat tightened; her instinct told her to end the facade by telling him she was tired. But her eyes couldn't _find_ the facade in his expression, and so she hesitated.

He did not. "Our child will bring us such happiness. Have you thought of a name for her?"

Kahlan swallowed, recovering her composure. "No." This was not real, none of this was real. This child was born into a nightmare, and she could not pour all her hopes and dreams into such a babe. "I assumed you would choose, my lord."

Darken nodded slowly, removing his hand from her belly and brushing a fingertip over his lower lip. "Arianna," he said, but after so little time that she wondered if he'd pondered the question before. "After my mother."

"Your mother?" Kahlan's surprised question came out before she could stop it.

For the first time in their marriage, it was he who set his jaw and pulled slightly away from her. "Does it surprise you that I had one?"

Kahlan appreciated the defensiveness. "I just never heard you speak of her."

Darken looked at her with a sort of knowing expression in his eyes that made her flush. No, they barely spoke of anything, let alone their pasts. After a moment he seemed to deliberately shrug off the sudden tension. "You never speak of your mother either."

"She died when I was very young." Her hands twisted a little, thinking of her father.

"As did mine," Darken answered with eyes focused on a past lost to the world.

She was curious. It had never crossed her mind that Darken Rahl had once been a child. Panis Rahl's son, but what of the mother? "Arianna," Kahlan mused softly. "It is a lovely name."

"It is."

Once, Kahlan had thought that Darken would kill her as soon as he had an heir. She'd given her servant girl, Alice, a mission in case that were to happen. But seeing him stand now, distracted by the mere mention of a woman he'd barely known...she reassessed the situation.

Whatever else was a game, his reaction about this was not part of it. Her powers might be locked away, but she could still sense that much. And she could tell, through intuition that had served her well all her life, that he would not make his daughter's life a mirror image of his own. Darken Rahl would not let his child grow up motherless.

She laid a hand over her womb, and when the babe kicked again she said without thinking, "Arianna approves of the name choice."

The words sounded out of place in this mess of a life, and she regretted them the moment they fell from her lips. Yet Darken merely turned back, almost smiling. "I'm glad."

Kahlan felt offset for the rest of the day.

*

Despite the unexpected honesty of the day they named their daughter, Kahlan did not often converse with him. Darken more than anyone knew how powerful charm alone could be, especially his own, but there were limits. Kahlan would test those limits at the very least, and now was not the time to falter. For her to desire him, she had to know him, and as a Confessor she had enough self-control to resist mere physical seduction.

As the months of her pregnancy wore on, he started making his presence more known. It had the pleasant side-effect of bringing him close to their daughter, and he couldn't deny a tickle of delight when she responded to his voice with flutters and kicks, but what mattered was Kahlan. She never tried to be harsh with him if he showed attention to her pregnancy; maybe she felt guilty, or merely obliged out of duty to be his wife.

Either way, it did not matter yet. They were alone, and they would talk. It was an easy little game, compared to the others he played with Kahlan.

She lay as she usually did, on her side with her legs tucked just enough to support the weight of her belly. It was appealing, the way pregnancy filled out her already-perfect form. But that wasn't why he was here. Though her back was to him, Darken did not protest, lying as he did with his arm curved around her belly, cradling possessively the unborn child they'd created. Kahlan was his wife, this was their child. Someday she would be happy for it, even if it took years to seduce her heart. Yes, he would wait years.

Arianna kicked occasionally, and his lips quirked each time he felt the pressure against his hand. Game or not, he valued this. It was almost hard to hold himself back; he had to 'change' in Kahlan's eyes gradually, or she'd never believe it. He didn't stop to ask if he had to believe it too. Fingertips brushing the fabric smooth over her taut belly, he took pleasure in the simple sensuality of Kahlan's motherhood, as it was soon to become.

She didn't flinch, but he could tell by the intake of breath that she would not keep silent. Good. He preferred when she initiated; it made his role easier.

"Is not your Council waiting for you?"

"They will wait as long as I make them wait." He ran his thumb over where Arianna had just kicked. "I am father as well as ruler."

The words didn't relax her. It was good that he didn't expect relaxation, then.

When she spoke, her voice was low and steady. "You know that no matter how well you treat our child, I will never care for you."

An eyebrow rose, but he didn't look up to her face. "Never is a close-minded word, Kahlan."

"I cannot forget or overlook that you were willing to kill innocent people. _Families_." Her restraint was admirable; he'd once heard far more heat behind such words.

Taking a deep breath, Darken shifted back, though he left his hand splayed over her swollen stomach. "It's an accusation that can be very easily leveled at you as well."

"You did it for power."

"For safety," he corrected. "Many more innocents die when lands are scattered and at war, rather than united under a cause of peace."

She didn't scoff, but she didn't accept the point either. So stubborn. "Peace is just a side benefit. You sought control."

Darken shrugged slightly, acknowledging the bare truth if not the tone and judgment she added. "And what did you seek, when you waged war with the lives of innocents?"

"Freedom," she answered without a thought.

He didn't argue the point. It would be useless to discuss how no one's ideals were that pure. Heroes never admitted to being human, to enjoying the power and influence that came with championing 'goodness'. Maybe one day they would have that argument, but for now he simply wanted to talk. He mused aloud, "I sought power to save lives, you to free them. Is freedom more important than life, Kahlan? Is that your justification for causing such death?"

She hesitated only the barest of moments. "Yes."

"Then why are you here?"

Darken couldn't deny a smug satisfaction at the long minute his words just hung in the air. He so dearly loved to win points in a duel, even if the victory he sought from Kahlan was one of the heart rather than the mind. She had a sharp wit, but he had the advantage of a lifetime of arguing _against_ conventional wisdom.

Finally she answered. "I'm here because it's not just about my life. I'm the Mother Confessor, I must protect the Midlands above myself."

He turned his gaze up to meet hers, and waited until she turned her head. His lips softened into a hint of a smile, and he was glad that there was no need to say anything but the truth; it was easier. "That's why I must rule. The greater good of our two lands is worth more than freedom or any individual life. We operate under the same principles, you and I."

Kahlan had no immediate answer to that.

Satisfied with their conversation, Darken leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her belly. For affection, possession, playing a part—motivation was such a complicated thing.

He had a country to rule. It was her move on the chess board, and he had no doubt that it would take much deliberation before she found a way to counter him.

*

The high-pitched wail of a newborn turned Kahlan's haze of pain and exhaustion into something like euphoria, emotions completely taking over her being. She caught her breath, felt the sweat trickle between her breasts, and almost laughed at the overwhelming weight of feeling. All her defenses worn down by a labor that had taken a day and a half, she was left with pure instinct, and cared only that her daughter was born and healthy.

Arianna screamed as the midwife swaddled her, almost loud enough to cover up when the door opened and her father was ushered in. The blood had been cleared swiftly away, for no Lord Rahl should have to see the full mess of birth. Kahlan didn't care, just felt a pang of sudden fear when she saw the midwife place the crying infant in Darken Rahl's arms.

This child would be his downfall, Kahlan had planned. This girl-child born of unholy union would restore everything to rights. Surely if her father knew, he would wring her tiny neck. Kahlan's heart skipped a beat, forgetting all logic as fear gripped her chest so that it felt like she would bruise.

She locked her gaze on Darken and held her breath. But he stood as still as her, awkwardly cradling the bundle of wriggling infant, eyes locked on the new wrinkled face. They were too far away for Kahlan to do anything but watch, but close enough for her to truly see. She waited, breath still caught, to make sure she saw correctly. For minutes he didn't move, face caught in the same bewildered expression.

Darken Rahl looked at his daughter as if she were the sun, and he was a seedling finally reaching out of moist spring soil.

Kahlan wondered for the first time if there might be a hint of a soul left deep inside of her monster of a husband. And she shivered at the heresy of the thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Now that he had his Confessor heir, Darken realized a flaw in his plan. Kahlan had not hated him when he came to her bed only once a month; she understood the necessities of continuing a line. But now, he would have to forego such marital intimacy, lest he turn her unsettled opinion to bitterness and hatred again. It was not a flaw so much as a frustration. He always had the Mord'Sith to tend to his needs, and his imagination if he wanted to indulge in picturing his goal—a Kahlan who came willingly to his arms, eyes alight with desire.

But nothing was quite satisfying in that way anymore. He found his hands twitching frequently, and wondered if maybe they'd been clean for too long. From the civilization of the Council Chambers, he descended to the dark of the Mord'Sith temple. Mistress Ellys bowed and offered him her place with a smirk. The agiel pulsed with his own magic, the pain blooming from his hand to the rest of his body. He smiled, both chill and warm, and set to training new recruits to the sisterhood of agiels.

His hands were bloody by the end, and he could almost taste the metallic tang in the air. But even after he'd cleaned up, wiped the sweat from his brow and changed into unstained robes, the primary emotion was not _peace_. It never was anymore.

He relished when he could leave himself behind and play the doting father. Arianna was a baby like any other, so he was told, fussy and affectionate in turn, making strange noises and sleeping at strange hours. Darken had never held a child before her, though, and found it endearing the way she turned her head towards his chest and snuggled when he spoke in a low soft voice. This wasn't so hard, whether Kahlan watched him or not. He thought he could not disdain his own father even further, but he did. How could any man be cruel or careless to such a life as this?

Mostly, of course, he gave his daughter attention for Kahlan's viewing. They were a family, and never more so than now. She watched him with hawk-eyes every time he came into the nursery and lifted Arianna from her cradle, murmuring words of promise. She would be the first Rahl to be born in a united empire, and he would raise her to rule well. The Council would have preferred a boychild, of course, as tradition dictated—Darken had no intention of daring to raise a male Confessor, though, and saw no reason why gender should change the fact that his child would be a true Rahl.

"You are the symbol of two nations," he told the blinking infant in his arms. "Through blood, raising, and ruling. Your name and mine will be the first of a new dynasty, an age of light for the world."

If Kahlan had any thoughts other than confusion as she watched and listened, Darken did not notice. Arianna reached for his finger when he stroked her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin, and he did not object when she pulled it to her mouth and started to suckle. It was almost amusing...almost, because he could not deny the odd sensation in his chest that he had yet to name. Perhaps this is what family always did to people. Perhaps this was what he'd always been missing, and there was no name for it only because people took it for granted.

"She is doing well," he said to Kahlan after laying the babe back in her cradle.

"She's strong," murmured Kahlan, chewing the inside of her lip.

"Is there a problem?"

His wife glanced up at him, then slightly to the left, as usual. "No, my lord." Her lips pursed, and she rose to depart the nursery, as if needing time to think over things. "I'm sure she will be grateful to have a father who makes sure that she is well."

So much was left unspoken, always. Darken considered that perhaps he was moving too fast, and she could not handle the change. Yet the infant was strange and new and fascinating, and how could he be a father if he was not moved to interest or care?

*

Kahlan missed the grooved hilt of her daggers pressing into her palms, the cool metal glinting in the sunlight, the clean noise of blade slicing through air followed by the wet sound of drawing blood from enemy flesh. Oh how her hands ached for something to do other than embroidery, her mind yearning for the simplicity of combat.

The desire was stupid. Peace was good, and the very _result_ of her combat. Just because she'd never been taught how to live with it didn't mean that she had to give in to this childish instinct for familiarity. The legacy of the Confessors instructed her to adapt; her duty as Mother Confessor demanded it. Even if only for long enough to bring Richard back to her.

Sometimes she couldn't picture Richard's face, though. Sometimes when she remembered his name, she only connected it with being a girl. A young girl in love. Maybe if she could fight again, the adrenaline rush would trigger memories of the passion that gripped her heart every time she saw her beloved Richard. But in this life, nothing was that easy or emotional. Richard lived in the same past where war resided, far out of reach. And this nightmare was not quite terrifying enough.

Once Arianna was a few months old, Kahlan retook her honorary position as Mother Confessor. Darken had stripped her of all national power, of course, when taking the freedom from the people, but he'd not been foolish enough to deprive the people of their justice system. And for all that Kahlan wanted his plans to fail, she couldn't bear the idea of _causing_ chaos.

So she held court, listening to petitioners and solving their disputes, a Confessor's smile on her face as always. Darken Rahl's queen was no mere trinket hanging on his arm, she made sure of that.

The man was deliberately making it hard for him to hate her, she would swear. It had been over a year since he'd summoned her to his bed for more than sleep, and she had to admit that her relief was tinged with suspicion. Why _had_ he married her? Was it merely to bear an heir and keep the Midlands content?

On the days when she returned from the Council to find him in the nursery, murmuring grave but affectionate words to their daughter, her heart always leaped in fear first—the right reaction. This man had slaughtered thousands, and it was her tiny fragile daughter in his murderous hands. Always, she stood at the door, hands clenched at her side, forcing herself not to order him to put the baby down. She would tell herself reluctantly that he'd always shown a kind of affection to the child...perhaps even tyrants could not resist the calming affect of innocence.

"Kahlan," Darken once murmured, as he always did when noticing her presence.

"My lord," she said back, voice tight as she wished yet again that her beloved daughter could have any father but him.

He took a few steps to her side, offering the cooing infant to her. "She has missed you this morning."

 _How could you tell?_ Kahlan wanted to snap. But instead she just cradled her daughter and nodded. Whatever phenomenon produced this gentleness in her demon of a husband, she didn't truly want to change it. Their child needed to survive, for everyone's sake.

But bewilderment struck when he met her eyes, and his own had a deep warmth that seemed incompatible with the Rahl intensity of his being. "You two are so beautiful together."

She would have flinched if she'd sensed any mocking or trickery. She didn't. And when he walked past her out of the nursery, she shuddered. The more she learned of him, the more everything disturbed her. Kahlan loved the nature of truth, but she was starting to discover that she preferred the kind that came in black and white. This life was long, and she didn't like the way every day brought some reason for her to reassess everything.

Why couldn't he just be hateful?

*

Part of Darken relished Kahlan's frustration as if it were fine wine. A woman of her intelligence could not remain blind over a long period of time, and he prided himself on forcing her to acknowledge her blinders. She probably hated him more for it, but it was a worthwhile hate, one he could easily overcome. No matter how many months it had been since he first started this task, he never doubted what prize awaited him in the end.

And it was such a prize. Her hatred and bloodthirstiness had made his blood throb, but it was short-lived, and replaced by strategy. It had been a dangerous attraction. But this strength and determination she wore even after hatred became too difficult to maintain constantly, complemented by a sharp gaze and even sharper wit, spoke to the language of his soul. She should not have been born in the Midlands. They should have been matched from birth, Kahlan and himself, and raised in the same fashion, to rule when ruthlessness was needed. Oh if she could only see how he was the only man who could ever understand her. Oh if only she could leave behind such naive notions of unquestionable right and unforgivable wrong.

She would. Someday, she would. First she would look on him in love, and then he would show her that they should have been in love from the start...two dark stars circling a black hole, but never falling in. Never failing.

In the meantime, he satisfied himself with subverting her expectations and playing on her notions of evil. He knew it irritated her every time he showed love to Arianna, and so he made an effort to be more open about those feelings; they weren't lies, just exaggerations of the pride and affection he naturally felt for his tiny heir. Darken didn't care anymore if he rather _liked_ giving familial affection to them both. Having a family didn't make him weak, just successful. So he told himself, often enough that it should have stuck...but it hadn't yet, and every so often there was a fear that he was actually becoming soft.

There was, after all, the fact that he didn't even have her in his bed.

"My lord," Garen once purred, stroking his chest as he lay sated as always, "I'm here almost every night. If your wife does not submit to your desires, I would be happy to train her to receive them as she should."

He gave a short grunt. "It is my choice who I sleep with, Mistress Garen. If I wanted my wife I would have her."

The Mord'Sith dared to raise an eyebrow at him, but said no more. For that he took her agiel and pressed it to her chin as he kissed her roughly, ending their tryst on a moment where pain and pleasure mingled.

It was not exactly a lie, what he'd told her. He would not defend himself to his Mord'Sith, but over and over he did so to himself. He lusted for Kahlan, but not like this. He wanted her to beg for him, to seduce him, to be breathless in desire, not because she was trained but because she was in love. What he wanted more than anything was to have the Mother Confessor in love with him. It would be the sweetest triumph of his life, even if the history books would never record it.

"Have you really lowered the taxes on the poorer lands of the Midlands?" Kahlan asked—nay, demanded—after Garen had left and she'd come into their chamber.

Darken raised an eyebrow, rolling onto his elbow to look at her more directly. "I've adjusted many land's taxes. Some higher, some lower."

She stared at him. "Why?"

"Why not?" He furrowed his brow. "I do not understand the question, wife."

The title, spoken simply, seemed not to disturb her. She passed over it and narrowed her gaze a little. "It's what they wanted."

He laughed shortly. "It's good policy not to attempt to squeeze water from a stone when there are sponges to be had. Do you think me a half-wit?"

"No," she answered, chewing the inside of her lip.

"I do not take pleasure in the suffering of my people," he told her in a less smug tone. She must surely understand this by now.

If she did, it didn't please her. Kahlan sighed and joined him in bed, question answered.

Daring to change their routine slightly, since she had broken the pattern first, he rolled over and kissed her shoulder. "Good night," he murmured.

She tensed slightly, but replied in kind and didn't push him away. Darken smiled to himself as he rolled back to his side. Kahlan wasn't ready to admit it, but her repressed hatred had turned to mere dislike some time ago.

*

"Mama," Arianna said, reaching up to press her small palm to Kahlan's nose.

She laughed. "That's right, Ari. Mama." In the bright summer sunlight, with the fountain gurgling behind them, it seemed like a fairyland. Just her and the daughter learning her first words.

"Mama," Arianna crowed, delighted with her new skill. She bounced on Kahlan's lap, black ringlets bouncing.

"Do you know, little girl, how much I love you?" Kahlan pressed a kiss to her child's round nose, smiling. "Someday you will save this whole world. And then no one will have to live in this horrible place, or have to suffer your father's rule."

"Dada?" The little girl looked up, blue eyes wide. "Dada?" She looked around eagerly.

Her mother cringed. "No..."

Arianna bounced on her mother's lap again. "Dada," she giggled, pointing to the palace, then reaching. "Dada!"

"No..." Kahlan shook her head, her smile taut. "No, Ari, it's just you and me. He's not a good man, we don't want to spend time with him. You're too little to understand."

Arianna was still less than a year old, and before she could pout, the glint of a goldfish in the fountain distracted her. Kahlan could not be so easily moved. Every time... Every time she found a moment's peace in this wearing nightmare, there he was. It was her fate, for failing the Midlands.

Finally, lips pressed together, she lifted her daughter in her arms and carried her back inside. The sun didn't feel so warm when she remembered that she only felt it, and only had a daughter to share it with, because of Darken Rahl. She ached for the day when her child was old enough to understand what must be done.

"My lady!" Alice came running up one of the main halls, a letter in her hand.

"What is it?" Kahlan asked, tipping her head as Arianna tried to pull at the curls escaping her updo.

"The annual report from the Midlands. Lord Rahl said you should look at it too."

"Oh did he," Kahlan said, biting back the bitter remark that it should have come to her first. There were days she still flashed with anger remembering that her husband controlled what had once been free realms. She handed Arianna to her servant, taking the fat letter. "Bring her back to the nursery, this will take me a while."

She was in no mood to care for her child, not when reality crashed into her little fairyland. Frustration never ceased to plague her, and it no longer mattered what Darken did; his mere presence in her life, the role he played, made her feel like a failure. Every day she surrendered, and yet they still called her Mother Confessor. Even he did. It was nothing but mockery now.

Pacing the hall, red brocade swishing against the polished stone, she scanned page after page of carefully drawn reports from every province in the Midlands. Her lips twitched as she took in every number, every word, brow narrowing as she neared the end. "This is impossible."

Two years of this marriage and she expected better. Restraint was out of reach today, and she forgot to retrieve the mask she'd removed once with her child; an iron gaze made servants back away as she strode angrily towards the high court of D'Hara.

Blood pulsing in her veins, hands fisted and half crumpling the pages still in her grip, she pushed the heavy double doors open herself. Kahlan ignored the business being taken care of, and walked straight into the hall with head held high. "Lord Rahl," her sharp voice rang out, filling the wide stone chamber.

Barons and counselors alike looked up in shock; she'd played the quiet queen long enough to fool them. Her husband looked up with only bare surprise, eyes widening a bit. The calm aggravated her anger, and she didn't take her eyes from him until she stood five paces from his throne. "We will speak now."

"Clear the court," Darken snapped in a quick order, flicking his wrist.

Not a soul dared linger.

Somehow, Kahlan forgot that he held the key to her radahan. She no longer attempted searching for her powers, impotent under magic more powerful than the force of nature she'd been born with; had she done so, she might have remembered that he also held the key to her continued existence, and that there was a reason she wore the mask of dutiful wife and queen.

She didn't remember, and Darken Rahl didn't remind her. "What is it, Mother Confessor?" he demanded of her, voice tightly controlled.

"I am _Kahlan Amnell_ ," she replied, swallowing anger with difficulty, "and you forced me to be your wife, not merely Mother Confessor. If I must submit to this, then I demand the respect I was promised." She thrust out her hand, papers in it. "Never try to lie to a Confessor, Darken Rahl, but especially never lie to me."

He rose from the throne, eyes a little darker than usual, and snatched the papers from her hand. "These are the reports from the governors of the Midlands."

"Altered by you, unless you expect me to believe such preposterous numbers!"

Darken turned his gaze on her. "What impulse would I have to lie about this?"

Kahlan almost retorted _to win my favor_ but bit it back in time. Where had that come from? As if he cared what she wanted? He was seeking to torment her and nothing more. It was only a moment, though, before she had a better answer. "You are always lying, Darken Rahl. You know nothing else."

His eyes flashed with momentary fire, and the heat of it made her breath hitch just for a second; there was desire in that gaze, to turn this anger into lust and battle for control with bodies instead of words. Anger brought flush and a quickened heart-rate—in his mind, she could see, it might as well be arousal. She stood frozen, unable to look away.

Whatever the impulse, he mastered it in time. He laughed, almost harshly. "How observant you are, Kahlan. But do you not think that liars know the truth better than anyone?"

"I—" Kahlan swallowed, not knowing how to take that answer.

Darken took a couple steps forward, handing her the papers. "And I would not lie to you about this. This is accurate. It is remarkable how much economies grow when you force nations to focus on trade instead of alliances. This is the reward of my peace; I thought you would be happy for your people's success."

Kahlan took a swift breath. "This is still early. The people are recovering from the war, this time will not last once they realize that all their freedoms are gone."

"Did I ever say otherwise?"

Her brow narrowed a little. "No."

"Then I would ask that you not accuse me of lying," her husband said, and somehow made it sound like a request instead of a warning.

Kahlan's anger was now as impotent as her powers. "As you wish," she said, smoothly, and turned on her heel to exit the hall. He could not even grant her one solid crime that she could hate him for. Relying on old offenses to fuel her dislike was driving her to distraction, even more when his current behavior failed to fit.

Of all the things she shouldn't have pondered long after the encounter (but did) first on the list was why he hadn't acted on his lust.


	5. Chapter 5

There was too much paperwork to be done. The candles flickered, sputtering a little, shadows starting to congregate in the corners of his office. Darken signed his name on each document, pen scritching and scratching over the parchment. The work was tedious but it was his. Thrills came with power, but details to keep in mind as well. It was annoying, but a duty he accepted. He would not trust it to anyone else.

Darken looked up with a small frown, pen poised over the inkwell. The sudden pitter-patter was not in his imagination, and at this time of night it was not allowed. Gaze narrowing, he scanned the open door and hall. Before he could rise to investigate or call a Mord'Sith, something touched his knee and he started.

"Dada," mumbled Ari, patting his knee.

He frowned at his daughter. "Where did you come from?"

"Wanna see," she said, ignoring his question and lifting up her arms.

Darken's brow furrowed, and he made a growl of disapproval. "The nurse should have kept a closer eye on you." But Arianna, just over a year old, just stared at him. He was not in the mood to track down careless servants, so with a roll of his eyes he scooped the small toddler up, warning her, "Don't touch anything."

Ari nodded, bouncing a little with excitement as she sat on her father's knee. "Paper!"

"And be quiet," Darken added.

He hardly expected a child of him and Kahlan to be obedient, and so wasn't surprised when he kept having to give her hands little swats to keep them off his important documents. Darken had great things planned for his daughter, but babes did not belong in Lord Rahl's office. No matter how much having her on his knee, secure in his care, satisfied something that no amount of work could.

Thankfully the hour was late. Ari's head drooped after a while, and she rested her cheek on the desktop to doze and then fall asleep. With a satisfied noise, Darken continued working, keeping quiet enough that he wouldn't wake his and Kahlan's bundle of chaos.

Kahlan came in a few minutes later, lips taut with worry until she saw their child safe and sound. She stood in front of his desk, conflict twisting her expression.

He raised his eyes and set the pen down. "I hope you have already chastised the incompetent woman who let her escape."

His queen arched her neck a little and said coolly, "I did."

That look reminded him that she was not yet his. Eyes never leaving her, Darken arranged his papers and then lifted Arianna gently into his arms. He stood, walking around the desk to stand close to his wife. He could breathe the soft unobtrusive scent she wore, and she kept a wary eye on him but did not flinch. For a few beats of his heart, he held her gaze and tried to penetrate the mask, wondering how he could hasten this wooing process more than he already was. When Kahlan reached for Ari, though, he handed the babe to her.

"We should have another child." The words surprised him almost as much as her when they fell from his lips.

"What?"

"I want another heir," Darken said slowly. He reached out and brushed his fingertips over the top of Arianna's head, thinking of how she'd been wandering the Palace alone. "Should anything happen to—"

"Nothing will happen to her," Kahlan interrupted firmly.

Darken's eyes didn't leave hers. "The future is uncertain, Kahlan Rahl. I don't wish to gamble on it." A flicker of emotion snuck free of his control as he took in the cautious chill of her face. Was it so much to expect more after over two years? His words came out unplanned, bitterness seeping into the low tone. "It would do well for Arianna to have a sister. She might grow to womanhood, then, knowing _something_ of family."

Kahlan acknowledged the accusation with a slight swallow and a hardening of her eyes. "Very well. You're right, not one person in this Palace understands love."

Kahlan turned swiftly to carry Arianna back to the nursery, and Darken watched her disappear down the hall with hands clenching at his sides. That would change, he told himself. She would love him. She had to. Nothing was _right_ if she didn't. He could not let all this hard work go to waste. He would give her another child and then she would see. If she only loved him everything would be perfect.

It was not too much to ask for perfection. He was Lord Rahl.

As he finished his work for the day, though, he wished that he'd kissed his daughter goodnight.

*

Kahlan would have had his soul for this, if he hadn't already secured it beyond her reach. Not content with merely having her as wife, he had to then treat her like a broodmare. Darken Rahl might be Lord of D'Hara and the Midlands now, but that gave him no right to overlook her until he decided he needed another _heir_.

With every petitioner she gave court to, Kahlan repeated the mantra in her head, keeping the outrage on a constant simmer. He would know her tonight. She would demand respect and she would receive it.

It never once crossed her mind to be cautious. Three years of marriage had taught her one thing at least, that Darken Rahl did not deliberately harm his own. She and Arianna would be safe from his hand, and Kahlan was no weakling to be afraid of mere wrath. She had plenty of her own to match it. Fifty more years before her solution to this mess could be put into place, and she refused to let time make her forget who she was. Kahlan Amnell—Kahlan Rahl—submitted her full self to no one.

Once she closed court, she visited the nursery as always. The nurse cowered at Kahlan's hard look upon entering; the Mother Confessor had rebuked her harshly when Arianna slipped free of her care. But today the wobbling toddler was compliantly playing with blocks, building towers and then crashing them down with a giggle. She giggled at her mother too when Kahlan knelt by her side.

"Bocks!" Ari said, holding up one of the red and black squares. "Dada bocks."

Kahlan sighed. "They're your blocks, sweetie. Not your father's."

Ari ignored that, piling some of the blocks in Kahlan's lap. "Mama pay too."

It was all she could do not to sigh again. Her irritation with her husband saturated even this, where normally she would go to escape the weary world and cling to childish innocence. But her daughter's blue eyes only reminded her of Darken's. He wanted another daughter; no, demanded was the better word. Always the demands when she least expected them. Kahlan wouldn't deny that her happiest moments in the past years had been holding Arianna in her arms but there were _principles_ at stake here. Finally she smiled stiffly, "No, Mama has more work to do. I'll come back to tuck you into bed tonight."

The girl pouted, and Kahlan kissed her on the cheek before rising, letting the blocks fall to the floor. If she could not confront Darken until tonight, then work was the best place to channel her frustrations into.

Daylight faded quickly, the hours passing faster than they had any right to. After supper was finished, and Arianna clutched her dress half-asleep, Kahlan settled her world for the night. Swift with determination after that, she walked to the royal bedchamber. To be true, Darken hadn't specified that he wanted an heir the next day, but if Kahlan caught him with one of the Mord'Sith then it would only add to her cause. Anger mattered now, and there was nothing he could do to make her uncomfortable. She grew sick of this.

He stood at the window, clad in an evening robe while he watched the stars and waited for her. The moonlight glinted off his sable hair and lit his profile. It always looked arrogant. Kahlan hated how well that seemed to flatter him. He turned, and raised an eyebrow at her garb—she had not bothered to strip out of her queen's dress. "My queen..."

"My lord," she replied coolly, crossing the room with arms stiff at her sides. "I'm not here tonight to give you another heir."

He turned from the window to face her, his expression and tone unreadable. "I see."

Kahlan found it difficult to frame her irritation into coherent words, and they didn't sound right when she said them, even with a voice as chill as January ice. "I am your wife, Lord Rahl, not your concubine. I expect to receive more of your notice then whenever you feel like furthering your line." Despite the tone, she could feel her eyes hot with fire.

To see an answering fire in his eyes surprised her a little. Darken Rahl stepped forward and seized her hand, drawing it close to his chest as he looked down at her. "I thought," he said in a dangerous voice, "that you could not bear the sight of me. For the sake of our country, I think we should have more than one child; I did not wish to _bother_ you with anything but what was necessary. Are you saying my judgment was mistaken?"

Kahlan sucked in a swift breath, biting back the instant retort on her lips. It took her full effort to keep her gaze from faltering. Damn him. She slipped her fingers from his grip, voice low and sharp. "You forced me into this marriage, what do you expect?"

"Perhaps for you to see my actions as respect, not the opposite," he answered with just as much heat, finding her hand again and gripping it. "Would you have been happier if I seduced you, Kahlan? Would that have soothed your hurt pride or made you loathe me even more?"

"All I loathe about you is your arrogance and your need for control," she hissed, blood rising.

"Don't lie to me," he sneered, "you cringe whenever I show any affection or kindness towards you or Arianna. You would rather I beat you."

The air hissed past Kahlan's teeth only an instant before her other hand rose and she nearly struck him. For the length of a few breaths neither moved. Darken holding Kahlan's hand almost possessively, while her hand hovered an inch from his cheek. Their eyes burned like the embers in the hearth.

Then he slipped close, his thumb rising to brush along her jaw. Before she knew what had changed, Darken kissed her. Kahlan's heart raced for a dozen different reasons, but fear was not one of them and she didn't pull back. Neither did he, and his words vibrated against her lips when he finally spoke. "Do you prefer this? Do you want proof that I honor you as the Mother Confessor?"

Close enough. Kahlan breathed back, reckless with the innate sense of authority that she could not suppress forever, "Yes. If it truly matters to you, prove that you ask this of me with worthy intentions. I'm your wife, not your tool." She barely knew what words were escaping her lips, emotions all in a tangle, but when he kissed her again it felt like a victory. This time he was playing along to her tune.

She could still make this life tolerable.

For all that she didn't like this man, and found most of his former actions repulsive, it had been two whole years without any intimate touch. Her body had needs that didn't consult her mind. Darken's lips and fingers traversed her skin with more familiarity than he had a right to, and her blood heated with irritation as she felt near-defiance in the deliberate worship of her skin. "Don't mock me," she warned before she could hold the words back. Tonight was a night where caution evaded her grasp.

Fingers locked in the intricate lacing of her bodice, Darken pushed her back until the backs of her legs hit the mattress, his breath hot on her neck. "If I was mocking, you would not be able to speak. I would rather show my admiration." And before she could reply, his lips were on her pulse again, dangerously persuasive.

Kahlan's breath hitched, and she didn't know what to do with her hands. The bodice of the dress slipped around her waist and his mouth followed, tongue tracing each curve of her, his lips feeling both eager and deliberate as he teased her skin. She shivered, thoughts spinning so she couldn't grab a particular one. Since their wedding night he'd always been gentle with her, more than he had to be, but this was different. This was not merely consideration, a duty to be "kind" to the woman he married. This was more. This was intimate.

She'd demanded this, to be treated with special care, but she didn't know what to make of the results. Over and over, she kept telling herself that she didn't want _him_ and that was the problem. So why didn't she want him to stop? Why didn't she freeze up, turn her mind elsewhere? As he pushed her back to the bed, lips never leaving her skin while he stripped her of the encumbering dress, the only answer she had was a gasp when his touch brushed over a sensitive spot.

The tension, the discord between them, demanded a release. To have him do her will, even if she hadn't considered just what she was asking at the time, gave this a thrilling aspect. Anger mingled with her body's need, ignored for far too long, and Kahlan told herself that all this explained the way she had to swallow little gasps of excitement. Lying back, she curled her fingers around the silk sheets and gripped them, feeling Darken's lips trail down her belly and feeling the tingling sensation in her loins increase. She would not hate herself for not hating this—it was different.

In a last ditch effort to make all this right, she tried to conjure up the image of Richard. Head tipping back as Darken spread her thighs, she trembled at the new—but welcome—sensation and called to mind the one and only love of her life. He was only a vague picture now, details forgotten after so long an absence, but it was enough. Eyes closed to hold the image in place, she clenched her hands in the sheets and arched, for the first time realizing all the pleasure that lips and tongue could bring. Richard was all she could allow herself to think on as her body arched, writhing under the pure worship happening between her thighs.

Physical pleasure was not entirely unknown to her, even in this marriage, but it had never been anything like this. The world swirled and closed in around her, logical thought lost in the haze of arousal, and before she knew it Kahlan heard little cries of need and delight escape her control. She had never been so close to bliss. Her back arched. "Richard," she begged breathlessly.

Everything stopped.

Her facade crashed around her as Darken's hand tightened around her right thigh, just enough to pain her. Kahlan's blood still throbbed with desire, but the rest of her was frozen as she silently cursed herself. Overconfidence had made her go too far, and she didn't want to think of what would happen next. Neither did she dare to move; Kahlan lay naked, breathless on the bed.

Darken pushed himself up to his knees, closing her legs with a little push as if in disgust. When his eyes flicked up to hers, the lack of anger made her unable to look away. Raw humiliation and betrayal made his eyes seem hollow as tombs ready for burial.

Kahlan waited, not daring to breathe, for the anger to come. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest, drowning out the throb of arousal that had yet to fade. But he didn't even touch her. His eyes dropped and he rose from the bed, hands arching and back stiff. One last flick of his eyes to hers, and then he walked from the room.

She wanted to curl up and whimper. The hurt in his eyes, unmasked by any other emotion, found its way past her disdain and stabbed at her heart. A few moments later, and she heard murmurs just outside the door, then the untamed moans of a Mord'Sith pleasuring her Lord Rahl. He was quick to hide the hurt and to reclaim control, but she'd seen. And it was more than she could bear.

This was not how things were supposed to be.

Trembling with far too much emotion, Kahlan pulled herself from the bed and ignored the sounds from outside the room. She yanked on a night shift and slid back into bed, under the sheets still warm and smelling of sex. It was all brutally clear now. What she assumed was disregard, he had meant as a twisted kind of respect. He wanted her willing. Oh how the thought made her shiver—and yet, when she could so clearly picture the hurt in his eyes, guilt ate at her heart. Even monsters had their humanity.

Kahlan curled her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, wanting to sleep and forget that this night had ever happened. But her torn worldview could only be repaired so far before she started lying to herself. She was the Mother Confessor, but even she didn't know what was truth anymore. Kahlan Rahl fell into a deep sleep, lost in an oblivion without answers.

*

Darken slept in his old private chamber that night. The next night as well. The thought of seeing his wife at all sickened him, and he was grateful for the size of the Palace so that he might always keep a distance.

Three years. Almost three years they'd been married and still she scorned every effort. Mocked him to his face.

It would have hurt less if he'd been more careful with his emotions.

He did note the irony as he took Arianna with him to the Garden of Life, wanting the love of his child when he disdained the feeling for anyone else. But it was his right to be a hypocrite if he chose. And Arianna, unlike anyone else, deserved his care. She would never betray him.

Kahlan, on the other hand—no. He'd known, as he received satisfaction and loyalty from Dahlia, that had he but spoken the word she would have trained Kahlan into submission. A few days under the agiel and the Mother Confessor would forget his brother had ever lived. But he couldn't speak the words. Blood and pain gave him no pleasure in connection to this. Arianna and Kahlan were sacred. He would not hurt them.

If that made him a fool, so be it. Darken deserved her love, he told himself, and had every right to feel betrayed when he received the opposite.

Surely he had the right.

Arianna recognized that, at least. When she handed him a small yellow flower, he couldn't help a tiny smile of acknowledgment. She smiled back, eyes warm with affection. He was not a bad father. He was not a bad husband. Sacrifices had been made so he could have the _chance_ for all this. They had been "wrong", yes, but necessary. And worth it. Arianna understood and forgave him, why couldn't Kahlan?

Why couldn't he stop thinking about the woman?

Boiling anger threatened to sour his face again, so he shut it out and focused on his daughter. He must raise her to be different. From him, from her mother, from everyone. She was the future. And she was the only one he had, since he would not give Kahlan another child to hold against him. Her words would come back to haunt her, he vowed in the heat of his hurt.

Deep down he hated himself for the anger he felt over such a simple thing. It was nothing. It should be nothing. The mere bite of a mosquito, when he had faced off tigers before.

But he had wanted to win. To prove himself to them all, prove that the ends justified the means—and who were they all, anyways? His father? Kahlan? Himself? The more he thought, the more he realized how he'd deceived himself.

It didn't destroy the urge, though. He would still win, only now it would be for winning's sake alone, as he always had intended.

Kahlan would never know that once she could have had more.

Never again would he give her anything of himself. Neither body, blood, nor heart.

*

The bed felt uncomfortable without two people in it. Kahlan hardly believed how much she tossed and turned in the night, knowing in her gut that Darken would not join her. It was a slap in the face. Her very presence had apparently spoiled his own chambers, and he would not deign set a foot in them.

Part of her was furious. The rest of her felt unreasonably guilty.

It was not as though she cared for Darken Rahl. He had murdered and tortured, and enjoyed it. He deserved death, not love. But here she was, married to him for the sake of peace, and they had a child. Arianna was not responsible for her father's missteps from before she was born. It was Kahlan's duty to keep the peace inside the Palace as well as out, that was the only reason she felt guilty.

She had to repeat those words over and over to herself, though, as they wouldn't seem to stick. Never had a truth been so easily forgettable, and sometimes she doubted herself.

But she always shook it off. No matter how it appeared, all she cared about was duty, and not driving herself insane in this life.

She was starting to see, though, that grudgingly playing the smallest of parts would not bring that result to pass.

Darken was still a man, and when pricked he bled like any other, good or bad. In heart as well as in body.

Kahlan hated how much she missed when they could at least pretend all was well. They hadn't even touched most nights but they'd shared a bed and some suppers. Sometimes, even, Arianna spent time with them both at once. All of it might have been contrived and stilted, but it was something. For them both, apparently.

She would be lying if she said she didn't want it back.

By the third day, frustration filled her to the point of screaming. This was the full nightmare she'd feared on their wedding day. A life void of even the hint of sanity. He'd even taken her daughter, and Kahlan would not dare more wrath by asking where she now resided.

On the fifth evening, she'd decided to dare something else entirely.

Clad in black and gold, hair pulled simply back, she had the servants direct her to his personal chamber. From the silence emanating through the walls, he at least was not drowning his hurt in an orgy of his Mord'Sith. It still rankled her that he enjoyed their company at all, but he was right—the alternative would have only increased her hate.

Finally, the door opened. Darken Rahl met her gaze with deep, frigid eyes.

"May I enter?" she asked without pause.

A few dreadful seconds passed before he stepped aside so she could walk in, expression fixed. He could play the emotionless villain all he wanted, she knew he could at least play one other part, and she preferred that one.

"Do you have a request?" His words were cold enough that she could almost hate him. Only almost. Curses.

Kahlan met his gaze, hands lightly clasped at her waist. "I once told you that I would never love you, and despite your words at the time it's still true. I will never love you, Darken Rahl, but I am the Mother Confessor. I am neither petty nor cruel. For all that you are my enemy, I will not sink to your levels. I am your wife and Queen, and—" For all her sincerity, she had to steel her jaw. "—you have my loyalty and duty."

He reached out and gripped her chin, tipping it up with a jerk of his hand, his tongue rolling in his mouth before he said, "Sink to my levels...?"

She grimaced. "Let us not argue our personal differences."

"Why?" he demanded, releasing her chin. "Do they not matter?"

Kahlan wanted to snap at him to stop provoking her. "You were the one who married me. I had no choice in the matter."

"You did," he said, with more force than necessary.

"Don't fool yourself," she finally said. "I married you for the sake of my people, because that was the price you set."

"I'm not fooling myself." Darken's voice dropped dangerously low. "I don't pretend that my actions were those of a hero. But you had a choice. I have always given you a choice."

Kahlan didn't pull her eyes away from him. She yearned to say straight to his face that it was because he wanted her. He didn't like to admit it, because it made him weak and human, but she had seen it in his eyes. He wanted her like he wanted children, because somewhere deep down was a spark of human personality that was trying to light a fire. But she couldn't say it. Not least because saying it aloud would give her too much hope. There was no hope. There was only acceptance of mediocrity for both of them.

So finally, she merely said, "Then I choose to not hate you. For Arianna's sake. And for the sake of our next daughter, and the life I want them to have."

"Next daughter?" Darken stepped forward into her space, suspicion dripping from his words.

"Do you no longer want one?" Kahlan asked, cocking her eyebrow.

His eyes pierced straight into hers for a long minute. She stubbornly refused to break the gaze.

"I accept your offer, Kahlan Rahl," he finally murmured, slipping a hand to her waist.

She nodded grimly. The status quo was returned. So be it.

"You may join me in my bed tonight, then." Darken gave her waist a squeeze, and while it was not quite affectionate, neither was it cold.

Kahlan supposed she appreciated that, for all it was worth.

It didn't cross her mind to think of Richard this time, when he took her in his arms. She looked into his eyes, using the Confessor's gift to search for a lie, and found none. They were back to normal, the two of them.

When he finally finished and rolled to the side, she lay still and caught her breath instead of turning away. She did not, and could not, actually like this life. But it could have been so much worse. Even being with him...it could have been so much worse than this.

Kahlan closed her eyes, and did not protest when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed her back to his chest so that their heartbeats pounded together. She was his. That was the deal. It was not right, but she would accept it anyway. Sometimes life was too broken to fix.

Kahlan Rahl would do her best to live well until Arianna could erase it all from existence.


	6. Chapter 6

She made an effort to be civil, at least, once her womb swelled with another new life. Whatever motivated him to be considerate to her or their daughter, she didn't bother questioning it. Kahlan would be reasonable; she would accept the little morsels of comfort offered, no more and no less. She would not punish him for behaving like a human.

It didn't make her happy. At least he didn't ask her to behave like it did.

"New baby?" Arianna asked with wide eyes, looking at Kahlan's stomach like it would magically produce one at any moment.

Kahlan smiled, stroking her daughter's curls. "A sister for you. You'll like having a little sister. I know I did." Her heart quivered, and she couldn't help but remember that it was her husband who had called for the death of the Confessors at Valeria, including Dennee. Voice chilling slightly, she continued neatening Ari's hair. "And your father is right; it will be safer if there are two of you. Who knows what things will be like in the future. Richard may need you both."

The girl looked up at her, frowning. "Richie?"

Kahlan shook her head. "I'll explain when you're older." She kissed Arianna's forehead and sighed. All this was for Richard. She didn't have to be fully happy in this life, because once he fixed the world it wouldn't exist anymore. She could settle for this twisted existence because it wouldn't matter in the end.

And if nothing mattered, then it didn't rankle so much when she chose to be civil to Darken Rahl. As long as he showed no cruelty to her, she would make an effort to make it easy for him. It wasn't betrayal, she told herself, to all those families whose deaths he'd caused, if she was lukewarm instead of cold. Just the smallest of compromises, surely. Didn't she deserve that much? She was pouring her lifeblood into this long lingering hell of a life, all for duty—wasn't she allowed to encourage the parts that seemed less hellish?

Yet at all times she guarded her innermost self. The House of Rahl was not a welcome home for the Mother Confessor, arbiter of right and wrong.

One night as she sat before her mirror, brushing out the tangles of her curls, Darken moved behind her like a shadow and rested his hand on her shoulder. Kahlan merely closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, she caught a fleck of red in the mirror. Turning swiftly, eyes suddenly harsh, she took his hand.

"Kahlan?"

"Blood," she said in a low sharp voice, after making sure the red-brown mark on his knuckle was what she suspected it to be. She pushed his hand back towards him, holding her own as if they dripped with disgust. He had _touched_ her with those hands.

Darken examined the hand she'd touched, frowning as he brushed the dried blood off. "I am normally more fastidious. Mistress Allys must have distracted me."

"A Mord'Sith tryst gone south?" Kahlan asked, voice keen like a dagger. Her stomach was tight with disappointment if not surprise.

His frown darkened. "I was aiding the sisters of the agiel with their training."

She hoped she didn't have to explain her look as she rose from the chair and walked past him to the bed. As if it mattered where the blood on his hands had come from. It was not the enemy's blood.

When she looked up, he was joining her in the bed, face clouded in an unreadable expression. "You are surprised." He sounded almost amused.

"No," she said, and told herself it was the truth. "The whole world knows that you lust for such dark things."

"Blood? I am no mythical vampire, Kahlan."

She pursed her lips, not wanting to carry the subject further. Who Darken was beyond their quarters was something she tried not to think on. But if he pressed the subject... "You like pain. As much as your Mord'Sith, only you were not trained in it."

Darken's blue eyes, still locked behind some mask of ambiguity, didn't flinch from hers for even a moment. "If it is deserved."

Kahlan didn't catch her slight snort in time to hold it back.

"Why do you think I...hurt people, Kahlan?" he pressed, leaning in and holding her gaze with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.

Somehow in the past week, their bed seemed smaller. The distance between them not quite enough. She could almost smell the spice of the soap he used, and had to suck in a quick breath. But her mouth was tight and not with fear as she answered. "You like the power. It gives you a thrill to have them so intimately under your control. Their blood literally in your hands, along with the rest of their life." Just like a dozen psychopaths she'd confessed, the unwanted thought darted through her mind.

For a second he didn't answer. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm not afraid to feel satisfaction when justice is served. When treachery, or willful weakness, is rewarded appropriately."

Kahlan bristled just a little, one hand tightening into a fist. "You think I'm afraid of giving pain?"

"You're afraid of enjoying it." He almost smiled at her. "Each time you drove a dagger into an enemy's heart, or cut his throat, or spilled his guts out onto the grass, you told yourself it was just what had to be done. Because to like that feeling, the conquest of death with your life, and the way it makes your heart beat like a drum—you can't enjoy that. It would make you a monster. You've been called that so many times, under false pretenses, and so anything on the verge of darkness is something you're _deathly_ afraid of, Kahlan Rahl."

She kept her eyes locked on him, his words twisting in her mind. They were too well-crafted, and it took time before she could find the loose thread to tug. "There is good in this world, Darken Rahl, and _death_ and _pain_ have no part in it."

"What would you be without pain?" he asked without pause. "Or death? Well, for one you would not be alive, since you so skillfully stoop to the evil of self-defense. But even more, do you truly think that you can exist without balance between good and...no, not evil. Neither death nor pain is evil."

"I didn't say evil," she said, shifting and straightening her back a little. "But to hurt people when it's unnecessary, and to find pleasure in it, is nothing to be proud of."

He narrowed his gaze. "Unnecessary? And who defines that?"

Kahlan glared. "The girl whose blood you just wiped from your hands. There was no need to hurt her. It is not as if she was an assassin with a knife at your throat."

"She knew what she would receive for her failure," Darken said, his own gaze becoming just as heated. "And yet she chose to fail. If there is no punishment to fear, people grow weak and malleable, falling sway to any easy falsehood that catches their fancy. Pain as a consequence to disobedience saves hearts, minds, and lives. The Mord'Sith embrace pain so that they may conquer it, instead of being subject to the threat of torture; they would rather feel pain for their own good than betray themselves later because they could not stand a little pain."

Kahlan turned from him, hands fisted at her sides. "You can make excuses all you want, but I have seen the blood lust in your eyes, Darken Rahl. Do not pretend it's something it's not." The words were for herself just as much as him, she realized in her gut.

He moved behind her, fingers brushing down her arm left bare by the summer nightgown. "I do not lust for your blood. Only for the blood of those who would hurt us, and the peace we fought so hard to achieve."

She tensed under his touch, refusing to let his words slip through her defenses again. "You mean the blood of anyone who gets in your way?"

"Kahlan..." The tone of his voice had dropped, darkness mingling with it. "This judgment serves you ill. Go ask Lena, the girl I helped train today, if she thinks I did poorly. I lust for justice. For the power to give it, when the world would rather deny it. Sometimes it is best served in blood, and I was raised a child of blood—if this is not my purpose, then I do not know what is." When she neither moved nor answered, he pulled back again.

Against her will, Kahlan felt the swell of memories. The thrill of pleasure as her confession granted justice to a dark and unclean soul. Power bestowed on her, so that she might right the world's wrongs. It was not the same, and yet instead of finding a counter argument, her intuition locked on only a small portion of what her husband had said. "Raised in blood?" She looked back over her shoulder.

Darken stared at her for a long minute, as if searching for something. When he spoke, it didn't seem like an answer to her query. "You have been trained to see darkness as something to erase. Your power drowns it out with the force of love. You know that it doesn't truly solve anything, yet still you use it."

"How many of those that you've tortured and killed were innocent?" Kahlan demanded, getting back to the point, growing tired of the way the train of conversation slipped from her grasp.

"None of us are innocent," Darken said, voice suddenly tense. "But you may continue to believe so if you wish, wife. A monster might torture you until you admitted otherwise. But I would not. Accept it or not, I only do what I think is right." He held her eyes for a second longer, then dipped his head slightly. "Good night."

She opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a pale repetition of his final words. They lay with their backs to each other, a draft slipping up between them like the chill of unfinished words. Kahlan wanted to tell him that he was all wrong, that there were so many ways to achieve goals without resorting to violence. But he knew that. He used them all. Yet still he took blood as well. Perhaps a child raised in blood could do nothing more.

Kahlan had to wonder, as her eyes slipped shut, what kind of child she had been.

-

Things still weren't flowing smoothly. Kahlan's belly rounded once again with child, and this time she did not avoid him, but neither would she look on him with affection. It was his fault this time, for not finding the right ratio between truth and lies.

Darken paced his halls alone, sometimes, flexing his hands in frustration. Why had he expected Kahlan to be easy? No woman worth the conquest could be, and he should not have underestimated her. The strength of her heart and will.

He could not give himself up for this ruse. She would never believe it, and neither could he. But when she looked past all he gave up, and saw only that which he clung to, his blood boiled. All he wanted was the satisfaction of her love. She'd spat it in his face once, that he would never know it. She was wrong, but he wanted it to be personal. He wanted the full victory.

Darken wanted her reassurance that it really wasn't true.

"Love you," Arianna murmured in his ear, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

He would smile and stroke her hair and believe her. Blood of his blood, of course she loved him. That was how family should work. In that, he'd succeeded.

But Kahlan would not let the past go. These ends would never justify the means in her eyes. Not if he didn't try harder. Darken held control over his emotions, and any longing or frustration could be set aside at will. They didn't matter. So he set them aside.

"She is your child as well as mine," he said to Kahlan, fingers tracing the curve of her belly. How easy it was to keep his voice soft and warm when he could stand like this, holding her and his unborn child. "You choose a name."

Kahlan sighed, but only for a second. "Irene."

He nodded. "A beautiful name for what is sure to be a beautiful child."

"Why do you care?"

The question caught him off guard.

"Why do you care, my lord, what kind of child we have?"

"Our children are the future. Only a fool would not care." He swallowed, brow furrowing. "That is, of course, if you believe me."

She pulled away from his embrace, eyes flicking to his. "You said you had no reason to lie to me. Considering the things that you dare tell me, I have no doubt of the truth of _that_."

If only she knew. But he merely smirked slightly, and brushed his fingers against hers. "You are my wife. You know all that matters. Even if you do not accept it."

Kahlan's eye penetrated his own. "You want this child, but I still don't understand why. You hardly need a Confessor; you conquered the Midlands without one."

"World domination is not my sole purpose, Kahlan." Fingers tangling with hers, he laid both their hands over her belly. "I want what I was not allowed to have. What neither of us were allowed to have. Family."

She answered only with a sharp intake of breath.

"It is only human nature," Darken said, as he'd assured himself so many times over the past years. As a final note, he pressed his lips to her forehead, eyes shut. Nothing in the world could make him drop this challenge. Only a little more time, and then he could succeed.

Months passed like years. Balance wasn't an easy thing to capture, but he kept his focus steady. He made himself believe the lies; new lies each time he pressed close to Kahlan, daring to rest his cheek against her belly, or to bury his face in her hair and inhale. Never did she ask to be left alone, and so he took his advantage where he could. She rarely met his eyes to check for the veracity of his affection.

If she had, he wasn't sure what she would have seen. Once he had known, before her burning hate slipped past flesh straight to the marrow of his bones. He'd made a hasty promise to himself before she apologized, but that apology had not allowed him to trust again. Neither her nor himself.

Kahlan's second labor was quicker, more intense. The carefully structured banality of their life had been scattered to the flames when her water broke at their supper table. Her face twisted in a grimace of more than physical pain, eyes meeting his for a bare moment as chaos churned in the dining hall. Silverware fell to the floor, and armor clanked, as everyone jumped forward to help their Queen. Darken hadn't known what to say. Birth was a force of nature, a raw element that was beyond comprehension. She didn't want to feel his presence in it, he could tell, yet it was _their_ child and he remembered the night of conception as if it was yesterday.

Arianna, seeming afraid as the servants helped Kahlan to her chamber in a bustle of talking and noise, climbed down from her chair and clung to his hand. He looked down gravely, brow tight. "Mama okay?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Come," Darken said bluntly, and lifted his child into his arms. "All will be well." This, he knew how to handle.

It was something out of a dream when, half the night later, Alice called him to the birthing chamber. Arianna had fallen asleep on his shoulder, but every time he'd attempted to hand her to a nurse, she'd clung and demanded tiredly that she wanted to see the baby. Darken didn't care, so he sighed and allowed it. Now, stomach a little twisted as before, he carried her to the room. Kahlan looked pale, hair plastered against her cheeks, but there was relief in her eyes.

"Another healthy girl," the midwife announced, bowing her head.

"Give her to her mother," Darken ordered, when the midwife offered him a look at their new daughter. The room still throbbed with the vibrant life of birth, all its mess and emotion and truth. Not all the blood had been wiped away, and he could smell it along with the sweat of labor, mingling with the noises of a newborn babe first discovering life. A part of him feared this, because it was neither in his ken nor his control. Yet some part of him made him drawn to Kahlan's side as if she were a magnet, and he sat by her when the baby was placed in her arms. Arianna stirred in his hold and sat forward to see her sister.

"Irene," Kahlan said, almost a whisper.

"Baby?" Arianna asked in a hush, putting her hand on the blanketed bundle.

Kahlan nodded, and Arianna turned back to Darken and beamed. Kahlan's eyes met his, weary blue, but there was not even a hint of hate this time. They sat in silence, and Darken thought it was at least the best possible outcome.

-

Boredom wasn't a word Kahlan understood anymore. Her authority was no less diminished, and the servants took care of most of the children's needs, but even still she barely had a moment of peace. Irene seemed to favor her father more than Arianna had. She refused to let go when being held, and would break periods of quiet with sudden bursts of emotion. Kahlan loved her anyway, as she loved Arianna. These children weren't the ones of her dreams, but they were more than she'd ever thought to have. She slept less, worried more, and found that the days seemed only to have half as many hours as before. Yet she was a mother at last, and that mattered enough.

It was disconcerting, though, at times. Darken seemed to feel the same, and sometimes Kahlan shivered in spite of herself. Never had she expected him to take to fatherhood like a bird to song. The children looked up to him with unadorned praise, and he smiled and kissed their cheeks and let them sit on his knee as he gave them trinkets.

Kahlan would have wanted a father like Darken Rahl. Despite telling herself that it could be an act, she could find no flaw yet in his treatment of their children. At least they would have that. When they grew up to see past the doting attention, to see the twisted man he was at the core, they would still understand what she meant when she spoke of true love. They would not be broken when she asked them to help Richard restore the world.

She never told Darken of her plans, of course. Yet she gave him her quiet, grudging thanks for his behavior.

"You always sound surprised," he said dryly.

From the look in his eyes, she knew she didn't have to say aloud that she always was.

It was like a game they played. They kept their own points with smirks and glares and wordless gazes across tables or beds, and never discussed the rules but understood them all the same. He did as he chose, and she watched with eagle eyes, waiting for his true colors to shine through cracks in his behavior. Always they did, but never enough yet to make her want to rip his heart out with her hands. She won points for catching him being violent or false. He won points for surprising her when she caught him being anything but. Four years since their wedding day, and for all that she could tell, they were tied.

Discontent and its opposite wound themselves around her heart, neither taking precedence. Queen Kahlan Rahl would accept neither emotion on its own. Either would be unacceptable.

One night, half a year after Irene's birth, Kahlan waited in the anteroom of the royal bedchamber. She'd come back early, but had only to glance in before knowing she'd have to wait. Mistress Dahlia, she thought, was the name of the Mord'Sith in bed with her husband right now. Infidelity—another small point in favor of her opinion of him.

Moans, grunts, and the occasional muffled cry slipped past the barriers between her and their bed. What would have been a marriage bed, had she taken a true mate or had she married Richard. But since she had no desire to remind Darken of her promise to be his wife in all ways, she stubbornly refused to care about these couplings. Her cheeks flushed, with indignation as well as unwilling interest. There was no shyness in either Darken or his Mord'Sith, and Kahlan's body responded to the primal sounds.

Pressing her lips into a tight line, she absently rubbed her thighs together, trying to relieve the tingle of arousal. It was like a mosquito bite that she wasn't allowed to scratch. Never in this life would such pleasure be hers.

Her lids half shut and she rubbed her palm up and down her thigh, wishing they would just finish so this arousal could fade and she could sleep. She licked her lips, ignoring the fact that it was not a feeling she really _wanted_ to get rid of. But the alternative wasn't open to her.

"My queen?" The harsh words made Kahlan jump in surprise, hands jerking up.

"Dahlia," she breathed out, eyes snapping open. "I didn't hear—"

The Mord'Sith, leathers hastily laced up as she exited the chamber, eyed Kahlan coolly up and down. "Distracted with your hands up your skirts?"

Kahlan flushed, too indignant to find an answer straight away.

Dahlia's eyes narrowed a little. "Your husband has the same needs. If you tended to them, it would save all of us from this situation."

"I don't want _him_ ," Kahlan said, her whisper like a snap of a whip.

For a moment the two women stood, Kahlan flustered at heart but perfectly arranged in dress, and Dahlia the opposite. Finally the Mord'Sith broke the gaze, and walked down the hall. Kahlan took a deep breath, ignored the encounter, and joined Darken in bed as if nothing had happened. Her lightly heated dreams were forgotten by the time she woke.

-

Darken Rahl was losing sleep again.

For all the peace, order, and self-control he'd constructed around himself, anger was seeping through. Happiness mattered too much to him now. He'd tasted too much of what life had to offer, and now it was an addiction he couldn't shake. Frustration was turning to anger.

But not at her. It was her hard heart that stood square in his way, her disdain that had broken his trust, but she'd left a crack. All she demanded was that he fit into it. She never expected him to do it, and he never _could_. Darken was no hero. The thought sickened him. He wanted to hate her for demanding it as the price for her love.

But his heart refused even a hint of hate for her. He could not even play at indifference, as he'd planned. They were bonded more closely than either of them had planned from the start.

Watching her sleep every night when he could not, his fingers tracing his lower lip a thousand times, he vowed yet again that somehow he would convince her. He could play the role long enough. He had to.

If he didn't win this challenge he'd invested so much in, he would go mad.


	7. Chapter 7

It did not escape Darken's notice when the window curtains shifted long after the last ambassador had left the court. Without lifting his head from the papers he signed, he said in an informative tone, "You do not belong in my courtroom, Arianna."

The three-year-old leaped from behind the velvet drapes, hair askew and eyes determined. "I the Muvver Confessor," she informed, stalking across the floor. "I'm in charge."

With a slight roll of his eyes, he dipped his pen into the inkwell. "You are not the Mother Confessor _yet_."

His daughter was still small enough that she barely had to duck to walk under the long conference table to sit beneath it, her voice echoing slightly off the wood. "Mama says I'm gonna be that when I'm big."

"Of course she did," Darken murmured. Always bringing her influence in to counteract his. Pouring some molten red wax, he pressed his seal and set the document to the side. With a slight glance under the table at his wayward daughter, he spoke as he beckoned with his fingertip for her to come out. "You will be the Lady Rahl, and I will teach you how to make a thousand soldiers fall to their knee without a moment's hesitation as soon as you walk into the room."

Her toddler brow furrowed in confusion, but she climbed up onto his lap. "I'm in charge."

Darken gave a little snort. "Not yet. I'm the Lord Rahl." Almost to spite Kahlan though she wasn't there, he added, "Lord Rahls are in charge of Mother Confessors."

Arianna wrinkled her nose. "I be Lord Rahl?"

"Someday," Darken assured her. "But only if you follow orders and do what you're told."

She just giggled and poked him. "Silly dada."

He grimaced, and lifted her from his lap to the floor. There was work to be done, and this would not help. "Go on, back to your nursemaid."

"Wanna play," she protested, frowning.

"I don't care. I'm in charge, remember." Against all expectations, he found himself giving her a firm glare. Arianna Rahl held her ground for a moment, then turned and stomped away. "Petulant child," he murmured to himself, though without any heat. She had a fine will. A Rahl's will.

An Amnell's will as well. If only the mother's was so easy to overcome.

-

Kahlan had always thought she wanted to be a mother. Duty had kept her heart in a silver shell for so many years, yet she'd had fluttering thoughts in secret. Images of holding Confessor children in her arms, singing lullabies to them and playing pat-a-cake.

Instead of that, she had reality. This one at least made her rap her knuckles on the dining room table, lullabies the furthest thought from her mind. It had been Darken's idea to have the children attend supper once they could eat on their own—the reasoning behind the decision had been left up to anyone's guess, but Kahlan wondered if it was some perverse way to make sure she always joined him at the meals. Their young minds could be too easily influenced, were she not there to protect them from their father's manipulation.

Barely old enough to see over the tablecloth, and still the girls managed to giggle and quarrel and behave like such _children_ that Kahlan's lips refused to unpurse. Darken seemed to placidly ignore his offspring, and nearly ignore Kahlan as well. For once Kahlan would have preferred that they be alone together. At least even his probing discussions were favorable to this.

Arianna threw a dinner roll towards her one-year-old sister. It landed in the gravy boat, and a few seconds later Kahlan's forehead was in her palm and she sighed heavily. "Arianna," Darken warned as he took a bite of pheasant, but did nothing more.

Kahlan didn't want to imagine years more of this. Maybe it would have been different with another husband, but she doubted it. Even confessed soldiers following her around after a battle were less frustrating than her own children.

"Lord Rahl." A Mord'Sith was ushered into the dining room. Garen, Kahlan thought her name was, if she remembered the distinctive amount of freckles correctly. She raised an eyebrow at the sign of the children, obviously expecting to find Darken alone.

"Yes?"

"We must speak." The woman's face was more grave than emotionless.

Darken rose to beckon her to the side, to a private spot. He always had time for his Mord'Sith.

More than just time. Kahlan, annoyed, cleared her throat. "Servants, serve the children the rest of their dinner in the nursery. Then Mistress Garen can speak to us both." Not in a thousand years would she be relegated to merely mother in this hall.

Slowly, Darken turned and cast his gaze on her. A moment of consideration, then he nodded. "Speak your piece, Garen. I hide nothing from my wife."

Kahlan was certain it was a lie, and expected to receive a smirk from the red-clad woman to prove it, but instead the Mord'Sith only grimaced. Back straight, hands at her hips, she kept her eyes on Darken Rahl. The servants obeyed Kahlan's orders swiftly and silently, Darken sat back in his seat, and he and Kahlan then eyed Garen from both ends of the table. Silence reigned for too long a moment.

"I bear your child, Lord Rahl," Garen finally admitted.

Kahlan gripped her fork in sudden surprise until it nearly bent. The news and her own reaction robbed her of speech. Darken, with a forced cool that he maintained at the most inopportune times, merely shot a glance in her direction that seemed more disquieted than shocked.

"I have not yet shed it," Garen continued with a stubbornly flat tone, "despite your marriage, because you have not made it known whether you will name one of your children as heir."

"Arianna is my heir," Darken said without pause, eyes never leaving the Mord'Sith. "I have my queen in any case. Shed the child and return to your duties with your sisters."

Kahlan's stomach churned at the words. Bitterness, much as she wished to deny it, made her taste bile in her throat. She knew what some said of her in the streets, that she was merely a paid whore in a house full of slaves. It was only gossip, but moments like these made her want to show her husband that it might as well be truth. No longer did she count it considerate for him to slake his desires in the arms of other women. She didn't know why it affected her, but perhaps it was because she wanted her children to know a better father than that. She'd thought _he_ might have the capacity to be better than that, fool that she was.

"If you share your bed so carelessly, my lord," she said aloud, catching the other two off guard before they could move, "you should not punish your faithful Mord'Sith for it." It was a great feat to keep mockery out of the word 'faithful' just this once.

Darken's eyes were a little colder than usual. "It is no punishment for her to do as I wish her to."

"Lord Rahl is right," Garen affirmed. "I'm pleased to do his will."

"How convenient," Kahlan remarked, eyes still locked on her husband's. "You have your queen, and you have your willing servants. Even for the master of D'Hara, it's a bit much."

"This is no time for a discussion," Darken snapped, anger wiping away both the calm and chill he'd put on.

"No, nor is it a time for you to behave like a barbarian chieftain," Kahlan threw back at him, in her heart wishing she'd just let him carry out his business in secret as he'd planned. "If Lord Rahl really is so enlightened, so civilized—"

"Enough!"

The sudden rise in volume and force as Darken finished the word made the final syllable echo around the hall. Garen twitched with discomfort, her lips in a firm red line.

Kahlan took a breath, putting her Confessor's face on. Emotions trampled over her accustomed mask of quiet acceptance, and it upset her. It bothered her that she cared when he turned out exactly like the man she'd originally hated. No, _still_ hated. Always would hate. Surely.

Darken Rahl rose to his feet and with a look had Garen following him out the door. Kahlan's teeth ground together in his absence. This was pitiful. She was going mad if she spoke like that, like a scorned housewife. A scorned Mother Confessor, even. She was above such emotion, even if he was not.

When he returned, she'd risen to her feet and found her control again. "You need not say anything," she began, not defensively.

"Mistress Garen will keep or shed the child as she wishes," Darken said, ignoring her words. There was still a low throb of anger in his eyes, but it was almost nothing. "And since I assume you do not wish any of her sisters to come forward with a similar predicament, do you demand of me that I spend every night alone?"

Kahlan's mouth opened and shut once before she said, "I spoke without thinking."

"So did I," he said in a voice still touched by heat. Without another word, he walked past her and out of the dining hall.

She was left wondering why either of them had cared. Maybe her first instinct had been right after all; with no experience in family, maybe they were going mad trying to start one from scratch.

-

Garen decided to keep the child, as he knew she would. The honor was too much to resist. She might be no Cara or Denna, but that just made it double likely that she'd carry through with the pregnancy. Garen had always been utterly loyal, craving any recognition she could receive, and he would have found it insufferable (as he did with Triana most days) had she not been so good at it. Her natural talents were exceptional, if not goddess-like.

Darken Rahl had never seen any reason to father bastards right and left if he could help it, though, and frankly found himself annoyed with his wife for being so stubborn about it. But he couldn't make her angry, not when they were supposed to be making progress. Teeth gritted, he watched Garen strut among her sisters even before her belly started to swell, and took out his frustration on many a subordinate who crossed him.

It didn't help like it used to. It made him feel worse the day Arianna was standing to the side, and saw him do it. After wiping the blood from his signet ring as the servant darted off holding a hand to the gash on his cheek, he'd knelt down by his young daughter and told her it was nothing. But she had her mother's eyes sometimes, and he knew neither of them believed him. He ground his teeth together, but he couldn't pretend it was just nothing.

Sometimes he regretted marrying Kahlan. She affected him, and his carefully won victory, in all the wrong ways.

"What do you plan to do, when my bastard child is born," he'd asked in an even tone as they slipped into bed together. His fingers twitched to deal with the tension he could not allow her to see.

Kahlan's lip had curled. "Are you asking for my advice, or are you trying to start a debate?"

She turned her back to him as the words left her lips, and so he didn't have to hide the flash of irritation in his eyes. Too witty. The Mord'Sith would have approved, had Kahlan only a little more wickedness. "Answer my question, Kahlan," he said, ignoring hers.

Rolling over onto her other side, Kahlan met his gaze keenly. "I would have the child raised by someone you trust. Kept close."

"Close enough to resent being a bastard," Darken said coolly.

"Close enough to not hate you for abandoning them," Kahlan answered. For a moment she seemed ready to add something snippy, but didn't.

Darken watched her for a few moments more, eyes dark while he pondered the adage 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer', then lay on his back and rested his hand over his chest. He'd been without pleasure too long; taking care of his own needs wasn't satisfying enough. Control of his mind darted elusively away while his body had unfulfilled desires nagging for attention.

After Kahlan fell asleep, he rolled onto his side and watched her. Running his fingers through her long hair over and over, he watched her as if he could send thoughts to her oblivious mind. They had never again brought up the one question that mattered—if she didn't want him to sleep with the Mord'Sith, then what exactly did she expect of him? She was not his mistress. He was the master Rahl and he only half pretended that he didn't want control in their relationship. He had never not wanted control.

It was just more complicated than that. Until he found the root of the complicated knot, he would grudgingly be celibate, rather than ask more of her or ignore her wishes regarding the Mord'Sith. Winning her opinion became all the more paramount the longer and harder she resisted. He was better than she thought. All he had to do was prove it.

Weeks later, she was still as closed off as ever, even when they spent time with their daughters. He had to start avoiding the Mord'Sith entirely, to keep from acting on impulses that were hard to control under normal circumstances. Life had to be balanced, but if he couldn't have that yet then he would at least avoid temptation. He would not manufacture his own destruction.

The Mord'Sith's resentment of this change escaped his notice.

-

Kahlan had never felt such panic.

"Where are my children?" she demanded, fingers eager to have a guilty neck beneath them.

Alice backed away until she hit the curtains, fright twisting her young face. "We don't know. Mistress Triana disappeared with them, we—"

Kahlan felt a dark stirring behind her radahan, remembered her powers for the first time in nearly four years, and her hands arched. Dahlia had once stopped her in the hallway to say that she should watch her back, that the Mord'Sith did not like being kept out of Lord Rahl's inner circle. The woman had said it with a sneer, but Kahlan had caught enough dirty looks herself to recognize the truth. It made her gut curl into a knot now; they had gone for her children instead of her. "Who told you that?"

Alice whimpered. "Mistress Dahlia. She said we were all doomed if we didn't find Triana soon because she..." The wide-eyed terror in Alice's eyes finished the sentence better than words.

Her children lying cold and lifeless on the ground, victims of the Mord'Sith's belief that she had brought weakness to D'Hara. The inescapable image flooded her mind, and gripping fear held Kahlan for a moment.

But only a moment. Her powers rippled as they hadn't in half a decade, and against her will fear was melting into rage. Kahlan gasped, starting to shake, and then her head whipped back as if she'd received a punch to the face. Her hair flew to the side without need for any wind and her eyes filled with blood. Con Dar made her grin seem like a deadly grimace as she made her way for the nursery door, primed with the rage that she'd need to save the only two people she cared for.

No Mord'Sith would be allowed to stand in her way.

-

She could not be so stupid. Darken Rahl told himself that even Triana could not be under the illusion that killing his children would make him favor her or her sisters. Yet his heart pounded like a war drum and he all but ran when he heard the scream.

Triana had blood gushing from her eyes and ears and nose, and she wailed on her knees in front of Kahlan. "Command me, mistress, please!"

Over her, Kahlan stood like a column of flame and smoke, every inch of her radiating protective fury. "The children. Where are they? What did you do with them?"

How Kahlan had accessed her powers through the radahan still around her neck didn't cross Darken's mind. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, forcing himself to stand back. Letting Kahlan do what she did best was the wisest choice right now, even if he wanted to feed Triana her own agiel so she couldn't even scream when they pulled her entrails out of her still-alive body. She wouldn't survive this anyway, but what of his children?

"I took them out the side gate. One of the soldiers was going to sell them for gold to the highest bidder." Triana gasped, careening forward in pain as the blood dripped from her face. "Dahlia helped me, because Garen wouldn't."

With a strangled scream of rage, Kahlan arched her back and slammed her knife into Triana's chest. The Mord'Sith cried out, and even more at Kahlan's touch. She writhed in agony and crumbled.

Darken planned to kill every guard one by one until they confessed the name of the traitor. If one hair on his children's heads was already harmed, not even all his men's deaths would ease his pain. They were his...they were the only things he had that didn't hate him with at least a part of themselves. He needed his daughters, for more than just succession.

But Kahlan beat him to the door, gripping his wrist. "Where do the Mord'Sith sleep at this hour?"

Confessor magic tingled like a spider crawling up his arm and he tensed, even though knowing it could only ricochet off his soul. His eyes flashed, as hot as hers without need of magic. "I will deal with Dahlia once my children are safe," he growled.

"She'll get away!" Kahlan raged. "And she'd be a fool if she let our children live. I will have revenge for my loss. I will have every soul of every sister of the agiel so that their kind can never hurt another innocent soul."

Suddenly Darken was gripping _her_ wrist, pushing her back towards the wall. "You will not."

"They're monsters!" Kahlan protested, fighting his grip, her voice hoarse with madness. "Every second you keep them only increases the danger to our children! They may already have caused their deaths."

In the moment, Darken hated her for distracting him, for standing in his way. "I need them," he said, refusing to let her wrist go. "They do more to protect those children than you will ever know, Kahlan, and they are not responsible for this crime."

"You're a fool to think any good can come from a Mord'Sith," Kahlan spat, and since she could not confess him her hand went swinging. The wedding ring on her third finger caught his lip even as he dodged.

"Kahlan," he growled, trying to capture her other hand. It was like trying to seize the wind.

"I need to avenge them!" she cried out, and there was an ache behind the rage that washed away the quick rush of hate. In her rage, Kahlan struck him again across the cheek before he pinned her arms, and she screamed in an emotional medley of rage and anguish.

Darken Rahl felt his heart pound. All the pain he planned to inflict on Triana was being reflected, pouring back on himself, forcing him to realize that it would gut him to lose their children. The betrayal would hurt, but the loss would tear him apart even more. Kahlan lost herself in the Con Dar, but he had nowhere to go. No hate, no anger, only fear. What had he done to himself?

"My lord!" Dahlia's clear voice rang out across the hall.

Kahlan bucked beneath his grip, hissing with renewed desire for revenge. Darken growled in frustration. "Traitor!"

"It's not true," came another voice. Garen's. Darken turned, brow narrowed, and saw the two Mord'Sith approaching. Arianna clung to Garen's neck; while Dahlia had Irene perched on her hip. "They're safe, Lord Rahl," Garen said, panting for breath.

"Triana was a fool; she gave us just enough time to stop her plans," Dahlia said, and bowed her head a little. "I would never betray you."

For a moment Darken stared as if he couldn't believe it, needing to blink to make sure his eyes didn't fail him. "Dada," Irene wailed, reaching for him. Arianna's eyes had fallen on Kahlan, though, and she clung to the Mord'Sith of all people.

He felt Kahlan relax under his hands. Eyes locked on the children, the blood rage was leaving her. Her chest heaved, but the relief was becoming clear in her blue eyes.

"Take them to safety and make sure they were not at all harmed," Darken ordered Dahlia and Garen after a few more seconds. The danger was passed, and his heart no longer seemed ready to burst from his ribs. He swallowed the tightness of fear for the last time, and looked back to his wife. His Queen who had startled even him with the intensity of her power. She'd slipped her hands from his loosened grip, but hadn't moved from where she stood with her back against the wall.

"I want my children now," she said in a hoarse tight whisper.

"You are covered in blood." Darken grimaced slightly. "As am I. Wait until they are calmed and you will not frighten them."

She gave him a look that was half a glare, but when he put his hand to the back of her elbow she didn't resist going with him to their chambers.

He'd always thought that victory would bring peace. How could conflict harm him, when he ruled the land? But though Triana had failed, and all was safe, blood still throbbed in his veins at all the possibilities his eyes were now opened to.

Darken would have preferred to keep his eyes shut.

-

The adrenaline left her feeling spent, but the magic faded and left tension in its place. Kahlan's pulse was still too quick. Her mind was spinning as she followed Darken Rahl to the room, and poured water in a shallow bowl so she could wash Triana's blood from her hands. She still trembled with the force of her anger, unabated since Darken had stood in her way. She could have killed him, if she'd been stronger.

But then she hadn't wanted to. That look in his eyes had been fear—not of danger to himself, but of what might have become of their daughters. Fear had shone through all the heavy layers of scheming and control and reserve, and even the madness of Con Dar had not hidden it from her. He'd stopped her only to prevent more death that would not solve anything.

How horribly ironic, the role reversal in that.

She was still on edge when she looked up from the washcloth and saw him daubing at the drops of blood on his lip. Cringing, she remembered the feel as her hand had struck him. There was another cut along his cheekbone, and she could not relish the hurt she'd caused. He hadn't deserved it this time. Mind still spinning, blood still pumping with the aftermath of Con Dar, she heard herself murmur, "I'm sorry."

Darken looked at her, brow furrowed.

Kahlan didn't know why she raised her finger to his lip to finish wiping the blood away, as if she could wipe away the pointless strike.

He kept his tone almost disturbingly even. "I've been struck before."

"I'm sure those times you gave cause, though." After the words left her lips, the sharp humor of them hit her, and she pressed her mouth together.

Darken stared at her for a long minute with an expression she couldn't read. The tension threatened to eat her alive, and she almost laughed painfully. At last he made a noncommittal noise, and lifted a washcloth to wipe her cheek where she could feel the tickle of dried blood.

She flinched at the gentleness, sucking in a breath. "You've never hit me."

"I don't believe in abusing family," he said shortly. "Count yourself lucky that I can usually master my temper."

If he meant it as a warning, she didn't take it that way. Kahlan watched him with Confessor's eyes, boldly, tired of the frustrating manner of his behavior. These past five years he'd somehow crawled under her skin, and she couldn't escape the itching need to _know_ what was going on in that mind of his. The darkness...and whatever else waited there as well. She grudgingly admitted that there had to be more.

He was trying to manipulate this moment; that was easy enough to tell. Forcing down every emotion because he didn't trust them around her. It should anger her but instead she felt a twisted curiosity. The game they played brought all her less-perfect thoughts to light, and she was having a hard time holding back. In this moment, she didn't even try. "Hit me now."

Instantly his eyes were on hers, guarded. "No."

Kahlan narrowed her eyes; he hadn't guarded them fast enough. The truth was like a whip, and she wasn't afraid of using it. "You want to hurt someone, because Triana hurt you like everyone else has. But you want _me_ to see you as someone better than that."

"Mother Confessor's intuition?" he asked forcefully, dropping the cloth to the table and not quite meeting her eyes.

"You'll never get me to see you as a virtuous man," she whispered harshly. The feelings in her chest were dark, but they were real, and she was tired of the promise she'd made. She wanted to be only herself, even in this misshapen life.

"That was never my goal," he said, voice not as steady as he would have liked, half-lidding his eyes to hide them from her while he wiped his hands with the wet cloth. "I have never pretended to be the shining hero, Kahlan. But I have no wish to hurt you."

"Do it anyway," Kahlan said, clenching her hands at her side. "Consider it payback, if you need a reason, for the cut on your lip. I'm asking it of you, Darken."

Finally his eyes met hers again, and she could see the struggle as he kept control, not even letting himself ask _why_ she made the request. It was good that he didn't. Kahlan couldn't have explained. Something in her burned for more than tiptoeing around this mess that they were in, wanting to shred the carefully structured strategies. She'd almost lost her children, the only real things she had, and she didn't want any more acting from him. Anything real would do, and this seemed fitting for Darken Rahl to prove himself with; she met his gaze with one of steel.

There was a brief pause of silence, and then a stinging slap landed on her cheek faster than her eyes could see. She gasped, head knocked to the side, hand rising to the cheek suddenly flaming with pain.

"Did that please you?" Darken asked, in a voice even more unsteady than before. She could see the quick pulse in his neck.

His strike had caught her lip. She flicked her tongue out to check for blood, and shivered a little. "Why do you always do as I ask?"

Hand clenching into a fist, he turned to leave, almost taunting under his breath, "Some truths you see in an instant, but some you only think to question years down the line."

He wouldn't answer her question and she grabbed his sleeve before he could leave. "Darken," she snapped.

"I should never have done this," he said disgustedly. He turned around and pushed her hand away, lip curling but not hiding the conflict in his stare.

They were falling apart, losing grip of themselves, and Kahlan should have stepped away. Instead she reached up and cupped her hand behind his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

Like always, there was bitterness when they touched. But there was honesty too, and a heat that was not merely pure adrenaline. It was wrong, as it had always been wrong, and yet when Darken kissed her back Kahlan pulled him closer. Maybe it was just survival instinct. Maybe it was something worse.

His arms slipped around her waist without a moment's hesitation, and she could hear how passion made his breath hitch in the kiss. He wanted her. And she wanted him, right now, even if she doubted she ever would again. Mother Confessors should be above impulse. But Confessor rules had only led her to ruin. To this. She would seize what she could.

They'd never kissed like this before. Heated, close, with her tugging at his hair and him crushing her to his chest. Hearts racing, every feeling and desire bared. She'd never expected to desire him, but here she was, feeling the tingle flutter through her limbs at how his hands caressed her back.

He groaned, a throaty noise that made liquid heat pool between her legs, and she arched her chest against his. Her mouth opened, granting him entrance, her fingers entwining deeper in his dark hair as he kissed her. It was a kiss that could burn her soul to dust.

In a moment, Darken had her backed into the wall, claiming her mouth without hesitation, hands on her hips. Kahlan couldn't help but moan and let her eyes slip shut, her arms around his shoulders. If only another man lived in this body...if only she could confess him, so he could be the man she wanted...but then they wouldn't be here. And she couldn't deny that some of this want came from emotions she didn't care to admit.

Her hands frantically undid the fastenings on his robes, wanting more than a kiss if she was going to give in to the devil. Darken did the same, pulling and ripping at her laces to get the dress off her. Kahlan saw stars until they broke the kiss, and she was panting for breath, running her hands up his chest. There was no going back now, her body told her. All of her was committed to taking this forbidden pleasure as her own.

His breath was hot against her neck, making her skin tingle, his hands both needy and possessive as they caressed her skin. Kahlan tripped over her dress a little as they moved towards the bed, and he caught her waist and half threw her to the mattress. Before she could catch her breath he was over her, and she was moaning and digging her hands into his shoulders, craving more of how he kissed down her neck.

She sought the laces of his trousers, finally rolling them over so she could drag them down his hips. Once they were gone she was half straddling him, leaning down, and hair falling around his face. He had his mouth on her breasts, hungry as he'd never dared to be with her before. It sent thrills of pleasure up her spine.

"Kahlan, my queen," he murmured breathlessly, pulling her hips down around his.

"Darken," she found herself panting, voice tangling when she finally felt him inside her, and all rationale was lost in the physical sensation.

Desire commanded her, and she rode him hard until fulfillment swept through her like a warm wind, and she cried out and didn't even notice when his own release hit.

Kahlan lay on his chest after they were finished, breathless, and closed her eyes as she took in the aftershocks of release. Her body felt good, all her tension spent on passion, and she refused to let herself think of anything else for fear that she would hate herself.


	8. Chapter 8

She was with child. Again. Kahlan didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. For a few weeks she wouldn't admit it to herself, but when she lost her breakfast in the hall outside the Council Chamber, she gritted her teeth and accepted it.

"Do you wish to shed the child?" the midwife asked in a hushed tone, cracking the knuckles in her fingers.

Darken would never know if she did. Kahlan didn't have to bear another child. She had only needed one in the first place, and they brought more chaos to a life that was hard by nature. Fingers stroking nervously over her stomach, she chewed on the inside of her lip. The midwife waited patiently.

"No," Kahlan finally said. "I will keep it." It was the most selfish decision she'd ever made, even including the conception night. _I just want to hold another daughter and forget that I have fifty more years of games and lies._

When she found him, Darken Rahl was standing alone on the balcony, the sunset staining his dark robes with deep crimson hue. The city lay peaceful below, winding down the bluff in geometric streets. Their realm. Kahlan walked to stand beside him, their sleeves not quite close enough to brush together. He didn't acknowledge her presence; she didn't look to him. They hadn't quite met each other's eyes in a month, not since she'd fallen asleep in his arms too spent to think of the pleasure they'd just shared.

"Do you have complaints?" he asked in a desert-dry tone, grip tightening visibly over the rim of the balcony.

"I'm with child."

A moment, and then he laughed, short and barely audible.

The warm breeze blew her hair over her shoulder, and Kahlan twisted her fingers in it, not sure what she should say next.

"The children will be pleased," he finally said.

He didn't say that he would share that point of view. But she supposed if he didn't, he would have said something. "I suppose you have it now. The family you wanted. I hope the facsimile satisfies you." Lips tight, she turned slightly to leave.

Darken caught her arm, fingers slipping from forearm to wrist. He was close, face inches from hers, and she didn't dare to look up. "I'm not ready for you to leave, Kahlan," he murmured. "Do you have nothing else to say on this?"

"There's nothing else to say, my lord." The words came out in almost a whisper. A little jerk of her wrist and his touch was no longer on her, but her heart had still picked up its pace.

"Darken."

She sucked in a breath, glancing up before she could help herself. He was too close, eyes too piercing.

"My name is Darken. I wish you to always use it." Expression carefully unreadable, he lifted his fingers to brush her jawline.

Kahlan swallowed harshly, wishing she could just flinch away from the touch. His fascination with her drove her towards insanity, but not in the way she'd thought. So many years since she'd seen anyone else she'd cared for, and so many years before that since she'd had someone other than her sister who was unafraid to touch her. But he had tortured people with those hands. He'd cradled their children as well, but Kahlan couldn't forget everything else. How could she accept such gentleness?

"I'm tired, Darken," she whispered when he looked like he might kiss her.

It stopped him, even if he knew better than to believe such words. But as always, he never said it aloud. More lies. She needed to kiss her children goodnight to feel right again. To feel like herself.

As she walked away, hands at her sides, the rogue thought broke into her mind that she never had figured out who herself was.

-

It wasn't a game anymore. Never had a lie eaten at his calm as that one had, the lie that he didn't _care_ about any of this. Whether in his throneroom setting policy, in the nursery watching his children play at house and war, in his bedchamber avoiding everything important with his wife, or in the Mord'Sith temple surrounded by the screams of agiels and recruits and miscreants—wherever and whenever he was, D'Hara came first, family came second, but Kahlan came third. And he wasn't even sure that she wasn't merely merged with family now.

Marriage is for fools, his father had sneered at him once. So much of his father he'd taken to heart without planning to. For years he'd lived the legacy of a man more broken than Darken could ever be, and he'd told himself he'd chosen his own path. But he hadn't. Panis would have been somewhat proud, if he'd had the capacity for true emotion. Darken would have craved and hated to be the recipient of the emotion.

And yet he was not his father. There was at least that much. His father would never have married such a woman, even as part of a strategy and for revenge, but his father would also have never looked on her as more than an object. Caring for her? It would never have happened.

Darken cared too much for Kahlan. Her words, her looks, her touches, her thoughts, all of them held too large a portion of his focus. He wanted to know her inside out and backwards, physically and emotionally and everything else. There was no other word for it but obsession, he told himself. Whatever she stood for, and he couldn't say what anymore, he needed it.

He needed to win this game that wasn't a game.

Progress came too slowly. Yes, it mattered to him that she could say his name without coldness. Yes, it mattered to him that she no longer flinched when he gave her a chaste kiss. But how long had it taken? Nearly six years?

Darken was a patient man, but he would enjoy victory much more if he gained it during his prime than in fifteen years when it was gone.

Kahlan refused to be forced in any way, though. Her stubbornness was strong enough to withstand the fires of the Underworld itself, he thought. Once he'd seen her as the most delicious challenge. But the more he knew her, the more he valued what she represented in his life, the more he didn't _want_ her to be a challenge.

Acquiescing to her every request helped a little, though not enough. There was too much she would not let him help with.This pregnancy seemed rougher on her than the last two, although perhaps that was due only to the stress. Arianna and Irene demanded far more attention than a Mother Confessor (or a Lord Rahl) truly had to spare, and acted out if they didn't receive it. Arianna would cause havoc, and Irene would sulk. It was enough to boil Darken's blood sometimes, but the fact that they were his children made it ironic on some level.

Two young children were wearing enough, but when added to a pregnancy that seemed to make Kahlan ill half the day, it became unacceptable. Some days, Darken would have gladly ordered Kahlan to bed, and had servants take care of all her duties. It was an annoyance to him that he knew that, if he did order it, she would resent it beyond any crimes he had actually done to her.

"Let me go!" Arianna wailed, flailing as Kahlan hefted her towards her bed. A stray kick hit the side of Kahlan's growing abdomen and she winced.

"Do not hit your mother," Darken said in a sudden harsh tone, walking into the nursery and immediately removing Arianna from Kahlan's arms.

His eldest daughter was not known for her compliance, but she held her tongue with wide eyes now. Darken had sworn once that Kahlan would know no abuse from him; he would not allow even the hint of it from his offspring either. Firmly setting Arianna in her bed, he gave her a look until she wilted and whispered, "Sorry dada."

"Don't do it again," he said in a lower but softer voice. He stroked her hair and she relaxed.

When he rose, Kahlan was watching him with tortured eyes. Darken no longer liked to see that kind of conflict and pain, not in her. His taste for such darkness was growing more specified, if not lessening entirely. She had her hand over her belly, rubbing, as if to blame the pain on physical means.

"Thank you, Darken," she said quietly when he returned from Arianna's bedside. She almost met his eyes when she said it. "You are a good father."

It was not the first time she'd said those words. No matter how many times he heard them, they still gave him the same twisted and raw sensation deep inside. There were no answering words. "I will be retiring early tonight," he informed her. "I wished to say goodnight, in case I am asleep when you come to bed."

Kahlan nodded and said her quiet, emotionless goodnight. He gave her a brief kiss to the cheek.

Darkness, but not slumber, enveloped him by the time she slipped into bed. He could recognize her by her walk, by the way the bed shifted when she sat on it. The mattress creaked as she lay on her side away from him, and he knew if he opened his eyes he'd see one hand cradling her growing stomach.

It was only after she too was asleep that somehow his mind could stop analyzing and wondering, and he could join her.

-

With this pregnancy came nightmares for the first time in years.

Night after night, Kahlan woke with beads of sweat running down her face and neck, heart fluttering in terror. Dreams of running, of being chased, of being lost and surrounded by enemies. Faces she'd known blended with monsters in the dreams, but even after she woke she couldn't shake them. Lying flat, not wanting to wake her husband, she'd place a hand over her heart and force her breathing to steady.

It would often be hours before she could sleep again. Sometimes, if the nightmares came in early morning, she rose and started the day early. Her daughters never awoke before the sun, but she visited them anyway, saying prayers to the good spirits over their innocent heads.

"You give them too much attention."

Kahlan turned sharply on hearing the low voice. Mistress Garen stood by the other cradle, wearing her leathers again. Her child had been born on a stormy night, a son that Darken had named Joseph. The Mord'Sith was proud of what she'd given her Lord, especially since he received royal quality of care.

Kahlan didn't tell Garen that it was _her_ grudging request that the bastard be cared for. No child should suffer want, and the boy had not asked for such a father or mother. It didn't mean, though, that Kahlan liked either the Mord'Sith or what her son represented. "They are my children, and they are the future of the country you serve."

"Lord Rahl will not give over his throne to a Confessor when there is a strong son at hand," Garen scoffed, arms crossed beneath her breasts.

It was not the first time she'd said it. Kahlan gritted her teeth and laid a hand over the swell of her belly. "That is not for you to decide."

The Mord'Sith walked past her, letting her keen gaze sweep Kahlan up and down. "I can see why he married you in the first place, but I don't know why he keeps you. You and your children cause more trouble than joy."

"Our children," Kahlan said tightly. The fact did not make her proud, but it was necessary. Richard needed a Confessor to be there when he arrived in the future.

Garen said no more, but Kahlan knew she hadn't won a point with the Mord'Sith. She hadn't denied Garen's accusations.

It didn't matter, though. She knew that Darken had no plans yet on getting rid of her. She dared to still reject his attention, even as nightmares continued to wreck her sleep. There were days she bribed the servants to keep them from informing Darken that she'd fallen asleep at her desk; there was no one's pity and concern she wanted less.

Every time his fingertips brushed along her jaw in a random gesture, it threatened her resolve to never forgive him. Every time he sat with their children, nodding gravely as they told him of their games of war and politics, it attacked her notion that he did nothing truly worthy. Every time his lips met hers in a chaste kiss, something she allowed for the sake of the marriage she'd promised, it crossed her mind that she had no reason to make life miserable for herself. What was moral integrity in the face of her drudging life? With each passing year, the temptation grew.

She would never let her guard down again. Never. Even if Arianna helped Richard erase this legacy completely, she would not let it say even for a moment that the Mother Confessor had given in.

Kahlan had always been afraid that forsaking goodness would feel satisfying. Ignorance was bliss, and stubbornness was her weapon to protect that bliss.

But life had more weapons than she.

Difficult pregnancy led to difficult birth. She didn't know how many times she screamed over the course of the labor. Hours blended with days, and even Darken was at her side by the end. She'd given him a glare with all her energy when he tried to sit next to her, hissing that she hadn't invited him in and she didn't want anyone with her. It was a lie—she would have wanted a loved one. But for some reason she spared him the full truth.

He was there anyway, pacing with his finger on his lower lip, his stance warning everyone in attendance that he would not accept failure.

Kahlan gritted her teeth to hold back another scream as the midwife called, "Almost there!" One more push and it was done. Thank the Creator. She fell back against the pillows, limbs shaking, and waited for the wail of her newborn girl. Morgan, they'd chosen as a name. Morgan the unexpected child.

The wail didn't come. Nor any other sound. The room nearly emanated silence, other than Kahlan's exhausted heavy breathing. "What is it?" she asked, confused.

No answer. The midwife didn't even look up from where she knelt between Kahlan's legs. From the corner of her eye, Kahlan saw that Darken was frozen still, and all the other servants had backed away. Worry clenched around Kahlan's heart in a tight fist, and she sat back up again, ignoring her weariness. "What is it?" she demanded.

Finally the midwife's head rose, cheeks drained of color. "The child is dead."

Kahlan's world stopped spinning.

"Let me see," Darken demanded in a strangled voice. Kahlan couldn't see clearly, her eyesight suddenly blurred, as the midwife held a limp bundle up to Lord Rahl. Darken's devastation needed no special eyesight to see; the way he stepped back as if struck drove a dagger into Kahlan's chest.

"No," she whispered to no one, feeling a sudden horror start to rip at her.

"I'm sorry...she was likely dead before the birth began," the midwife said, to no one in particular. "I will clean up the afterbirth and then leave." She hurried to the bed to start her work, as if afraid she would be punished as soon as they overcame their shock.

An anguished moan left Kahlan's throat before she realized that it was grief tightening it. She stared towards the lifeless bundle that should have been her daughter, and it was like staring at a piece of herself, amputated without reason. The instant pain was agonizing, and she let out another cry. Dead. Her daughter was dead. Gone, before she'd even seen her face or touched her. Kahlan wished in that moment that it was she who was lying there dead instead, as she cried out again in grief, unable to hold it back.

She failed to notice that Darken didn't leave, instead turning to face the corner as if to hide from the world. Nothing mattered but her and the child she could no longer have. Even by the time the midwife had cleaned everything up, Kahlan was still rocking forward, hands clenched with the pain of sudden grief. Her eyes stung, but the tears wouldn't come. Everything hurt. Everything.

Then there was a hand on her shoulder, and she let out another cry of anguish before realizing that it was Darken. He was sitting next to her, touching her, and she wasn't sure if he was offering or taking comfort.

"Don't touch me!" she ordered regardless, voice trembling. He ignored her, pulling her into an embrace, and it wasn't soft but tight and almost demanding. She hit him, her breaths coming as sobs of pain, but he didn't let go. "Leave me alone," she begged, closing her eyes and seeing only the image of her child that was now no longer to be. It was worst than all her nightmares combined, and oh Creator how it hurt.

"Don't speak," he said in a voice harsh with emotion. Kahlan felt the tremor in his hold of her, an urgency in the way he pressed her to his chest. Their child. Even as grief overtook her brain, the facts wouldn't escape her.

Kahlan didn't have the strength right now. In so many ways she didn't have it.

They were alone, all evidence of death removed. Darken sat on the bed with her and held her tightly to him as if clinging to his one constant. Heartbroken, exhausted, Kahlan stopped struggling. A tear dropped from her eye to his chest. She found herself weeping against him, then, and didn't know if she would ever stop.


	9. Chapter 9

Loss. It was a simple word, and any other time Darken would have called it a flat one. What could the lack of something do to an independent person? But now...but now...

He no longer cared about plans, about shoulds and shouldn'ts, about legacy or appearance. He wanted his child. The world was not allowed to take her from him, and he wanted to let loose the fury of a Rahl until she was returned to him. He wanted to hurt those who had taken her before she got even one moment to breathe, until they gasped on their final breath that there was a way to save her. His Morgan. Third daughter, and yet before her birth she'd made another place in his cold heart. And then the image of a purple lifeless body had been branded on his mind, before the midwife respectfully carried her away. The loss, something he'd never felt before, tore his heart in two.

Darken Rahl had mastered more pain than any mortal man before him. Two agiels were nothing. The torture of fire was nothing. The loss of a child made him want to beg for mercy. He couldn't have guessed, and so in the pain he was left to frantically grasp for what he could. Kahlan, his wife, was there. It had been _their_ child. There was a fierce need in him to hold her close, and he refused to let her protest. She broke down and clung to him, and with every raspy breath he tried to hold back his own tears.

Lord Rahl could not cry. Not over a babe. It was the tiniest shred of dignity that he held onto, even while drowning in the embrace. If he could not have his own wife in this time of grief, what point would there have been to marriage?

Kahlan wept herself to sleep on his chest. He stared at the ceiling and felt pain on every beat of his heart. When sleep finally overcame him, he didn't notice. It felt like only moments before consciousness returned with all the torment of loss.

Darken resented how comforting it felt to have Kahlan's head upon his chest, her hand tangled in his robe, and even when she woke she merely shuddered. Worse, it almost soothed the pain to lay his hand on her back, stroking her hair, ignoring the pain. He didn't want to acknowledge how the intimacy and lack of lies made him feel alive, even when he found no pleasure in it.

For all the bitterness and hatred, they had brought children into this world. Now one was forever lost to them and no other person would ever understand. They were forced to be husband and wife if only to find a safe place to grieve.

The sun rose and the sun set. Kahlan had no strength to move from the bed, and Darken had no will. Every moment he expected her to pull away and whisper again that she wanted him gone, and every moment passed without her moving. Her weight against him was the only thing he could count on.

"I don't understand," Kahlan finally whispered as the day died. "All was well. I felt her moving. Darken, I _felt_ her."

His hand curled into a fist in her hair, knuckles whitening, and his tone bit with steely sharpness. "Your spirits are not always kind, are they."

She could bite back, even if only under her breath. "No one is kind. All kindness died when Orden disappeared."

Despite the bitterness he still held her, and she did not pull away.

Day finished turning into night again, and Darken still had no will to move. It was the second night in a row that they'd slept in each other's arms, occurring for the first time in six years of marriage. The irony stabbed hatefully at his broken heart.

-

Kahlan felt torrents of emotion set loose once her self-control finally broke, and thought she would overwhelm her husband with them. Yet after it all, when she was left empty and numb, he still was there. Stubborn as she. Broken as she. To see even him break, who had not a soft heart to begin with, made her want to hide forever from the world.

When finally she had to eat and drink, and rise and wash and change, she missed the solidness of his body. She was oh so weak right now, and could not deny herself the craving for someone. Anyone. Even Darken Rahl.

A servant informed her that there was a new marker in the family crypt. Three days, and already their daughter was committed to only memory. Kahlan's hands shook as she pulled on a warm robe before descending down the long cold stairs.

Darken knelt before the small stone carved with the runes of Morgan's name. A fresh flower, a blood red rose, lay atop it. His fingers, slowly, traced the name that they would never speak aloud again. Kahlan's grief threatened to overspill again, and she mastered it only long enough to cross the crypt. Without thought, her fingers reached for his shoulder. He didn't respond to the touch, but the connection was worth it. Just once, Kahlan could not be alone.

Nearly an hour past, and then he rose to his feet. Turning around, he took her into his arms again, embracing her with neither heat nor demand. Only emptiness. Kahlan let out a shivering breath and wrapped her arms around his waist. Beggars could not be choosers, and they were both the poorest of beggars.

With death around them, they clung to life. Kahlan felt his heartbeat against her chest, the strength in his arms as he clutched her close, and even when her eyes stung with tears she refused to let go. Not for any reason but the call of her heart. Right now, when all of her ached for the child she'd carried for nine hopeful months, she needed her husband. Her wretched, broken, twisted soul of a husband, who yet was there for her now with the very same hurts she suffered from.

He didn't ask for her to sleep in his arms that night, but she would have demanded it if he had pushed her away. He didn't, and so silently they slept close together.

Arianna and Irene didn't quite understand when Kahlan finally had to tell them. They cried and they clung to her, but they looked confusingly at her belly as if they still expected their sister to come. Grief defeated motherly love, and Kahlan had to leave them be before she grew sick with it. Face pale, hands clenched, she walked out on the balcony and silently dared a sudden breeze to carry her away.

Darken came up behind her after the sun finally set, placing hands over hers, drawing her back to his chest. She could feel the urgent need in the motion as if it was magic transmitted through touch, but all that mattered was the safety. Eyes closed, she accepted the gift. "I can't sleep in that bed again," she whispered to the air.

"Then I will have it burned," he said against her hair. There was no emotion in his voice, but there didn't need to be. His hand clasped tighter around hers.

Darkness fell around them, starlight illuminating only shadows, and at last Kahlan took a deep breath. Turning in his embrace, she laid her arms about his neck and let out her breath, cheek resting against the velvet robe. The little noise she heard resonating in his chest rang of both surprise and relief. She was grateful, and closed her eyes tighter when his arms wrapped securely around her.

As promised, they didn't sleep in their bed. Kahlan didn't mind falling asleep on his chest when there was no room for two on the chaise. He was becoming the only thing in the world she understood anymore. If that wasn't an obvious sign that grief had broken her heart and mind, she didn't know what was.

-

Weeks passed.

Months passed.

Life carried on, as always, and new urgencies drowned out old pains. The scars remained, but at least the wounds became scars. Darken had so many now.

No one but Kahlan ever saw his grief, at least there was that much. By the time it faded, and D'Hara demanded attention from its Lord Rahl, he still left his guard down when alone with her. To pretend with her now would be useless.

Slowly, incrementally, things returned to how they had been. Never the same, but close enough. Or too close. Darken refused to let Kahlan sleep across the bed from him any longer. For weeks they'd found comfort in each other's arms out of necessity. He knew that need still drove them both, and he would not let her stubbornness deprive them any longer. They deserved this.

The fact that she didn't even make a non-verbal protest warmed him even more than her quiet presence.

One night, as he tugged her hand to take her into his arms, she pulled herself free. "Must you always possess?"

He frowned.

"Can it give you that much pleasure?" she snapped, half bitterly.

"To have what is mine? Yes," he answered, sitting up slightly, brow furrowing.

Before he knew it her hand was on his chest, pushing him down, eyes hard as stones. "Accept what you are given this time. Did all those games and ploys teach you nothing?"

Darken had never been so caught off guard. His queen had dropped all restraints, showing him just how many she'd had. He had mistakenly underestimated her. "Kahlan," he couldn't help but say in a low near-growl.

"Be silent, Darken." It was almost an order, and then her head was on his chest and she was preparing for sleep.

Argument flooded his emotions and thoughts. He needed control. She was not allowed to have it all. He wouldn't _let_ her.

Except that he did. His Confessor was finally using her eyes, though he still didn't like what she saw. The needy foolishness of everything he did, the way he fought for control because it was the only way he thought he could have what he wanted.

When at last he relaxed back and rested a hand on her back, accepting her forceful move because he had no other course that would not destroy whatever she felt for him, he still let out a throaty rumble. Receiving her intimacy instead of taking it did provide satisfaction—again, he regretted marrying this woman. He should never have let her into his life. He should never have assumed that he was stronger than her.

Darken Rahl was not defeated yet, however. When finally he could turn away from grief and move on, he focused again on the original plan. Kahlan would love him, and that would matter more than these brief moments where she was victorious.

-

"Did you confess her?" Kahlan demanded, voice too loud.

"I didn't mean to," Arianna cried, cringing back from her mother's wrath.

"Don't yell at my mistress," Alice said, stepping in front of the child. Her blue eyes no longer held any spark.

Kahlan wanted to scream and pull out her hair. "Arianna, I _told_ you to be careful." Gesturing violently with her hand, she let loose exasperation. It saturated to her bones, like every emotion did these days.

"But I didn't mean to," Arianna protested, fighting for her innocence even though her eyes welled up. "Mama I didn't, it was an accident."

"You don't know what you've done," Kahlan snapped. "Alice is gone forever, Arianna. This is serious. You can't use your powers _ever_ , don't you understand?"

"Leave her alone." Alice looked ready to attack Kahlan, her once sweet voice now a ruthless growl. Arianna clung to the servant's ankle, lip pouted in indignation but wibbling with shame.

"Arianna, tell her to leave the room." Kahlan knew her daughter was only five years old, but she couldn't brook disobedience. When Arianna hesitated, she turned a Mother Confessor's glare on the toddler.

Arianna obeyed as fat tears started running down her cheeks, then said tearfully, "Mama..."

Kahlan realized her fists were clenched, a sob building in her throat. Before she cracked, she inhaled sharply and turned to walk to the window. Her updo pulled at her scalp and made her head ache, making her grip the windowsill to keep from tearing it down.

Her anger made a sickening about-face as soon as the distraction was gone, and she knew she was only upset with herself. Six months since they'd lost Morgan and still Kahlan's heart was brittle, her emotions easily triggered. But more, she'd failed. She'd left her children be to make the mourning easier, and hadn't given Arianna enough lessons. Alice's innocent soul was on Kahlan's hands.

She let out a hitched breath, a bitter laugh on her tongue. When she turned and saw Arianna sitting, knees to her chest and arms wrapped around them, the tension broke. A mother again, Kahlan knelt at her daughter's side. "I know you didn't mean it," she whispered.

Arianna started crying and hugged her tightly, and then Kahlan was crying too, and she couldn't explain all the reasons why. Rocking her daughter, murmuring "I'm sorry for yelling", trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Don't cry," Arianna begged, looking up. "Dada says it's a crime to make you cry."

Kahlan half-sobbed half-laughed. "You didn't make me cry, sweetheart. I'm just...stressed."

Arianna clung to her, and Kahlan wished her own mother was alive to tell her that everything would be alright. At this point, she would have settled for anyone, mother or not. Things were getting better, she could tell, but some days she felt on the verge of shattering. Finally even comforting her daughter grew too taxing.

The court needed her. The Midlands needed her. Kahlan knew what she needed, though, and she knew the only option for getting it. She found Darken alone in the gardens after being told that Lord Rahl had taken a break from seeing petitioners, and she didn't bother putting a mask of composure on.

"Kahlan?" He turned around as soon as she approached, immediately noticing the damp eyes. His thumb brushing the tears from her cheek, and the dark worry on his stress-lined face, made her shiver a little.

"Arianna confessed Alice." Her voice sounded heavy to her own ears, but there was no place in her heart for wounded pride and she let the vulnerability hang in the air. "And—" She stopped short, though, words getting stuck in her throat; she cast her gaze down to her clenched hands and tightened her jaw. How could she say such things to him? How could she spell out in words the weaknesses of her heart, to Darken Rahl?

But they'd done this too many times for him to not understand. Before she looked up, his arms were around her, and she melted into the embrace. It was all she needed, someone to hold her and make her feel like she didn't have to face anything alone. She justified it to herself by reminding herself of a time the month before, when he'd broken down after striking a chair he'd tripped over, and she'd found herself cradling the Lord Rahl in his grief. He'd cracked two knuckles, yet they hadn't spoken of it again. She hoped for the same confidentiality today, as she buried her face in his chest.

There was no way out of this, after all. His scent, that she breathed in with every half-sobbing breath, meant security if nothing more. Nothing in her life had ever been so stable as him, and she could hate the fact but cling to it all at once. It was the only thing she could cling to.

At last she pulled away from his embrace and swallowed. "I'll have Arianna order Alice to follow my orders, and then I'll order her to another part of the Palace. It will be difficult, but not a nightmare. I just need to train her more."

Darken nodded. "I trust that you know what you're doing," he said in a serious, cautious tone.

She glanced up, eyes a little distant. "Yes, Darken. I can fulfill my duty." She _could_ be herself again, she knew it. Just a little more effort.

Just a little more something. If only she knew what.

-

He wondered if she knew how much more she demanded now. For so many years she'd been quiet, but the death of their daughter had destroyed all that. Some of her bluntness, he knew, was defensive. He felt it too, the prickly need to send attacks towards anything or anyone who drew close to their vulnerable state. Months later and he was still not over Morgan's loss. But he had always demanded what he wanted, and had not known that she would ever do so to him.

It was not what he was expecting, her initiation of quiet intimacies with him. It wasn't part of the plan, the way control shifted from her hand to his depending on the day and moment. He couldn't deny that part of him wanted to wrench all the control from her, forever.

But he was weak. Her gratitude and peace when he quietly bent to her will was like a balm to his emotional scars. It felt _good_ , like aloe on a burn, and while it was not the victory he had planned he could make it one in his head. She was more his now than ever, so did it matter that he didn't hold all the strings?

It did. Just not enough. His heart, barely healed though it was, had somehow mounted a sneak attack against all his baser instincts. They were still there, and struggled to the fore when they could, but he had yet to deny Kahlan anything.

The weakness of that should have choked him. Instead he felt comforted, and loathed himself for it.

He loathed himself so many days. The frustrations and the sense that his world wasn't _right_ yet had only increased since their grief. Darken was incomplete, and he couldn't dare let anyone know. Kahlan was what was missing, as she always had been even before he'd realized the extent.

It was only some consolation to his arrogance that she seemed to need him as well.

They'd only just slipped into bed one night, when she partly rolled onto his chest to look him in the eye, determination shining there even in the dark. "Give me another child," she said quietly.

He frowned instantly. "You can't—"

"I'm tired of the slow healing," Kahlan said deliberately, interrupting and ignoring the irritation it caused in him. "It's taking too long and I can't bear it. I want to feel joy again."

Darken held her gaze for a long moment, letting her words sink in until he accepted that he felt the same. "So be it," he assented.

Then all at once her lips were on his, fingers twining up into his hair, and his breath caught in his throat at the sudden sensation. He gripped her hands and pulled them from his face.

"Are you going to argue it?" she asked, and it would have been daring if her eyes hadn't been so hard.

His blood throbbed, and he could taste her on his lips. Yet he was wary, always wary, and six years of chill from her only added to it. "This is an impulse. You will regret it."

Kahlan's eyes narrowed, heating, and she shifted more on top of him so her thigh ground between his legs, sparking his arousal. "That is my choice, Darken," she said in a tone that allowed no dissent. Then she pulled her hands from his grip and kissed him again.

He kissed back with all the desire he'd been waiting to release. Suspicions and grief and weariness forgotten. He gave into lust, the heat and the friction and the panting breaths, savoring every little move she made when lit with desire. Groaning, he gave his all to the joining with her. By the time she was arching in climax he'd forgotten the rest of the world, and seconds later he was lost with her.

She lay half beneath him, still catching her breath, for a long while. The smell of sweat and sex and satisfaction surrounded them like a cloud, and Darken rested his head on her breast and inhaled deeply. Kahlan threaded her fingers through his hair over and over, and he couldn't hold back a low sound.

It was strange, how long they lay in silence, entwined together. The grief added a twinge of not-quite-happiness to the new strangeness, but blissful peace was, in a way, just as good as happiness. There was no awkwardness when they finally slept in each other's arms.

Kahlan was not pregnant the next day, she could tell with her Confessor's gift. They were together that night again, and again he let loose all his passion as she let go of hers, and the sheets were a tangled mess by the end. She fell asleep with her face pressed against his neck.

It took a week before they conceived, and Kahlan was in his bed each night. It was almost affection, almost seduction, and yet something that was better than either. Love, albeit a twisted variety, was what brought them together.

Darken hadn't wanted it like this. But now that he had it, he would not reject it. This time, the fourth since their marriage, when she told him she was at last with child he pressed his lips to hers. She kissed back, softly, and that was that.


	10. Chapter 10

Moonlight shimmered off the silk sheets and made them look like ice. Kahlan could feel the draft come over the open windowsill and creep along the bed towards her, as if the moon itself wanted to invade the room. But Darken Rahl's warm chest was at her back, his broad hand resting between her breasts, almost right over her heart. Kahlan did not shiver at the draft or anything else.

"What was your plan?" she asked, fingertips tracing the tendons on his hand. Once she'd been the Mother Confessor, who asked nothing when she could not be sure of the truth of the answer. Now, Kahlan wondered just how much truth mattered.

"I do not understand the question."

"You wanted the boxes of Orden. When they were finally out of your reach, you looked to me, even though you made me wear a radahan. I hated you, but you chose me anyway. Why?"

"Have you not guessed, after nearly seven years?" There was a slight taunting in his tone, an arrogance that she hated.

Gritting her teeth, Kahlan resisted the urge to yank herself away from him. "I'm nothing like you, how can you expect me to understand a mind such as yours."

"Don't lie..." He pressed his lips against the curve of her ear, and against her will it sent a little shiver of desire down her spine. "Kahlan, you are no less a puzzle because you pretend at being good. You are complicated in the same way I am. You and I...we dance around the same darkness. We were born to it. I could not turn my eyes from you any more than I could look away from my own reflection in the mirror."

Kahlan had to swallow quickly to keep her heart from suddenly rising in her throat. Her hand slid to her belly, where their fourth child had just started to grow. "I am nothing like you, Darken," she repeated.

Vainly. All of it was in vain. His words scared her because they were true, as too often they were true these days. What good was the truth; Darken Rahl was making her believe such a maxim, and not even a lifetime of Confessor duty was defense enough. Every day spent with him made her accept another little twist, and one more dark crack, to the snow-white perfection she'd striven for. Ideals could not survive in this Palace.

"The plan is irrelevant," Darken said after she'd forgotten asking the question. Lips pressing against her throat, the heat behind them threatened to sear a mark on her flesh.

Yet it was comforting. The lie was just as comforting. "And now?" she demanded, just barely audible.

"Peace. Family. Old age." He half laughed. "What more could one ask for?"

The irony didn't escape Kahlan. Yet she couldn't help whispering, with reluctant truth, "We at least share that goal."

He kissed her neck again, and she could read without her Confessor's gift that he meant _and so much more_ , but she closed her eyes and did not let it rankle her. No matter how it had come to this, he was her ally. An enemy in all other lives, but an ally in this one.

Kahlan turned in his arms, eyes closed as her hand caressed his neck and she kissed him. The full strength of his lips, the brush of stubble against her cheek, and the way his pulse flickered under her fingertips as he kissed back sent forbidden sensations through her. He was a man who seemed born to arouse desire, and she was a thief in the night, stealing pleasure as well as comfort until this life might end.

-

Discord was slipping in under his defenses, faster than he could drive it back. Darken Rahl surrendered to none, but this situation was not personal. The alliance of the Midlands and D'Hara was trembling, one harsh wind away from toppling and crumbling to dust.

"Your queen may wear a radahan, but what of her children?" the ambassador from a distant province demanded, straight to his face. "We've all heard that the eldest has come into her powers. How many of your household has she compromised?"

Darken could have slit the man's throat from ear to ear if he wished. But he held his temper just enough, walking close to the ambassador until he could grip his throat securely. "Whose queen, Lord Algernon?"

"Your—" The man's eyes had suddenly gone bug-like, disgusting.

"Your queen," Darken said in a harsh, quiet tone. "D'Hara's queen, and the queen of the Midlands. And _our_ children are none of your concern." Strange how he almost hated himself for the desire to kill this annoyance. It seemed such a useless desire now.

"Y-yes my Lord Rahl." Throat suddenly released, Lord Algernon swallowed hard and bowed his head.

Words were hardly the source of any problem. Darken flexed his hand and sighed. "Report, Mistress Dahlia," he said as soon as the ambassador had been shown out the door.

"He's only the first, my lord. The most irritating, but the most blunt."

"And do you think he has cause to complain?"

For a moment silence rang in the hall, and Darken turned to look upon his first Mord'Sith. She had an eyebrow raised, eyes dark as she pondered carefully his query. "My lord," Dahlia said, "there is a reason that your Mord'Sith do not consider it an honor to guard your children's nursery, save for Garen. Confessors are dangerous, and unpredictable children are even more so. And to the populace, the Queen presents herself as a danger through them, even still chained by a radahan."

Even with all the _logic_ behind her speech, Darken's fingers twitched and he wished they were still around Lord Algernon's throat. "And your suggestion?"

"I think you knew what you were doing when you chose a Confessor bride. Only you can handle the consequences."

A shrewd answer, even if it skimmed around the point. He cast Dahlia a dark smile that did not please her, and nodded his dismissal. The Mord'Sith all had their specialties. Denna had been cunning, Cara stubborn, Triana cold. Of those left, Constance was bitter and a failure, and Mistress Ellys had only the skills of organization. Garen was loyal, and Dahlia was smooth. He had always valued them for more than the pleasure they brought to his cold bed, but he needed more.

Longing for Denna and Cara would do nothing. Approaching Kahlan, on the other hand... Well, at this point, it was not as though they were truly playing a game.

"You need not say that you warned me of this," he said, finger on his lip as he sat on a bench in the nursery, watching Arianna chase Irene around the room with a dragon figurine. "As I said then, I never expected the harmony to be eternal."

"No, you are no idiot," Kahlan conceded, hands in her lap at the base of her stomach's pregnant swell. She'd sat up straighter, and her eyes had grown sharper. He wondered if she'd forgotten she was Mother Confessor and needed this reminder. "Peace does not last. People are petty and selfish at their core, and goodness is temporary."

He smirked. "Indeed."

"But it can always be teased from them, if the proper effort is taken," Kahlan continued, ignoring his cynicism. "In this case, D'Hara still fears the magic of the Midlands, and the Midlands feel rejected by their conquering nation. You are the only one who doesn't fear confessors, and that's through no particular courage of your own."

His fingertip tapped absently. "A problem I had assessed already."

"Mama!" Irene squealed, diving into Kahlan's skirts as Arianna growled and threatened her with the toy.

"Your father and I are speaking," Kahlan warned the girls, shaking her head slightly. Darken found it hard not to be distracted by the ease with which the words fell from her lips without any overtones. Her eyes flicked back to his at last, all business. "It has been too long since they remembered who their Queen is."

"You think that your mere presence...?" he leaned forward slightly, curious.

"With you at my side," she said pointedly. "It has long been our duty to charm the people with persona. For the sake of peace."

 _And you said we were nothing alike,_ he would have said, had she not pursed her lips in what looked like bitterness. He'd teased some of her darkness to the surface on purpose, but Morgan's death had done more than he ever had. It was not the darkness that he had been looking for, and he held his tongue when it touched her face. Instead he nodded. "I shall have a royal tour arranged for us soon, before your condition makes it difficult."

Arianna pounced on his lap before he could depart, and he ruffled her hair affectionately. Kahlan might eye him with tolerance, and he appreciated it, but his children wriggled their way past his defenses with all the skill of a serpent and the innocence of a lamb. He'd become a father for the sake of wooing Kahlan, but only he was aware of that motivation. Arianna knew him merely to be her father. "I'm a good Lord Rahl," she whispered in his ear, bouncing on his knee. "I made Rini remember that I'm in charge. Also I have the dragon."

"Hmm." He leaned in, whispering in her ear as his eyes drifted to Kahlan, "But remember, sometimes you can only maintain control if you let others hold it for a while. Or at least believe that they do."

Arianna merely gave him a puzzled skeptical look, and he kissed her cheek and let her return to her games. No, such lessons could only be learned with experience and a long life. Kahlan cocked her head slightly, and he gave her a small smile.

-

D'Hara hardly welcomed Kahlan, but at least the Midlands treated Darken in the same way. Kahlan approved of the symmetry, even if she would have preferred things as they were years ago. Lord and Queen, she and Darken roamed the united countryside and spoke to ease tension. Sunshine on her face, breeze in her hair, and the gentle clip-clop of horses' hooves broke up the entire world she'd lived in. For a time she forgot that the collar around her neck still made her slightly less than equal.

One thing Kahlan had never doubted, and that was Darken's charisma. Standing at his side while the breeze rustled their clothing, he spoke of peace and harmony, voice was thick and warm with meaning and a buzz that slid straight to her core and reminded her of nights spent in his arms. That, Kahlan told herself, was the pregnancy's fault. Otherwise, the frequency of that lustful thought would have disturbed her.

For all that this was a political move meant to strike first before rebellion built, her husband handled it with diplomatic ease. He spoke well, did not censor her words, and showed no frustration to anyone around them. Kahlan could count on one hand the times she'd seen his temper break through, and every time it was only a map or a candle or a parchment who bore the brunt of his wrath.

His restraint only made her want to give hers up. Each time he held back, let humanity rule over the dark impulse in his eyes, she felt less and less shame about allowing him in her bed. Telling herself that it was merely hormones, or even just relief at having life in her womb after so long feeling the emptiness of death, didn't seem to cover it all.

Repression wasn't good for the body or soul, was her next justification, as she stood by his side in the Lord Rahl's tent. The generals had left, but her eyes wouldn't leave Darken as he stood, fists resting on the table and eyes focused on the faded map. Trying to decide which cities they'd have time to visit before she became too heavy with pregnancy. All Kahlan could consider was the muscled curve of his arms, bared by his vest—and the raw pleasure she felt being wrapped in them.

She shouldn't enjoy the times they spent together, but she did, as she once feared she would. The thrill and the darkness and the power games only made her heart patter, even when he touched her with nothing but gentleness. Never would she admit it, but she preferred the times when they came together with more passion than emotion. She felt less guilt, then, and could lose herself in it like the Con Dar.

The tip of her tongue caught between her teeth as her fingertips traversed up his arm. It was such a luxury, still, to touch like this. Her hand wrapped around his broad shoulder, slipping under the edge of the vest, and with a low groan he finally pulled his eyes from the map.

He didn't ask her intentions before crushing his lips to hers, joining her in completely abandoning the map. And Kahlan couldn't have put into words what she wanted, but whatever it was, she found it in that kiss and what came after.

The Mord'Sith were good about keeping everyone out of the tent as Darken had her on the table, her dress around her hips and her heels digging into his back. She curved her nails into his back and groaned his name in frustration as he pounded into her, all need and friction and heat and strength. Whatever he gave her when they came together, she wanted it. It was the only part of him she wanted—or the only part she could admit to accepting, in any case.

Kahlan felt no shame in letting out a hoarse cry and arching closer to him when climax took her away, and acknowledged no guilt when she felt his release spill into her as his hands gripped her hips. Catching their breath, her bare legs still around his waist, clothes tousled and disarranged, they let time pass before they reluctantly pulled away.

She didn't care that her former self would have been horrified at such an action. Six years was too long a time to judge anything in advance, she decided.

Despite her pregnancy, she brought about many more marital trysts as they journeyed through the two nations. A reward, she finally told herself—the last of her several justifications—for all the horrors she'd had to face. A little pleasure that would mean nothing in the end.

-

The People's Palace was an eery place without Lord Rahl's presence. Mistress Garen would even have accepted Lady Rahl, but no, she had gone with Dahlia and the rest on their little tour of the countryside. Since being at Lord Rahl's side bore no rewards these days, Garen had declined, offering to guard the young Rahls at home.

It was, she noted smugly, the job that she alone volunteered for. Unbeknownst to both Lord and Lady Rahl, young Arianna had confessed another of her servants. Since at the time her parents were hardly in a state to be kind to informants, the Mord'Sith had hushed it all up. The servant was killed, and Arianna was given a harsh lecture about the need for self-control. She'd cried miserably, but Garen had not held one word back.

The next nursemaid for the young Rahls wore gloves and a cowl at all times, even when the summer heat blazed. But as for guards...it was still only Garen who dared to venture near the girls. She had no love for Confessors but neither did she fear them. At least, so she told her sisters of the agiel.

While the nursemaid prepared the girls' meal, Mistress Garen prepared for the usual dance of strategy between her and the eldest Rahl girl. Only five years old, yet Garen had learned not to underestimate her.

"Aha!" Arianna leapt from behind the couch and whacked Garen's shin with a wooden dagger.

The Mord'Sith stood, hands at her back, ignoring it.

"It doesn't mean you win, just because you pretend I didn't hit you," Arianna pointed out, with an annoyed tone that she'd inherited from both her parents.

Garen didn't even sigh.

"Mama and Dada aren't home." Arianna continued stalking around her, poking at Garen's leather-clad legs with her sword. "So I'm Lord Rahl. And Lord Rahl needs Modzit, which means you."

"I am not your Mord'Sith."

"But you have to be. I'm the oldest Rahl here, so you have to follow me."

Garen let her gaze fall on the five-year-old with calm. "I serve Darken Rahl, your father, until his death."

Arianna's brows knit. "You have to follow me, 'cause I'm a Confessor. The _Mother_ Confessor, when Mama's not here."

"If you touch me, I will agiel you," Garen warned coolly without flinching.

The girl took a step back and swallowed, but said solidly. "My father would kill you."

"Better him than you."

The two shared a glare that could have lit the nursery on fire. Irene quietly hid behind the chair and watched the stand-down in silence. Were Arianna only a couple decades older, it would have been epic.

Finally the child gave in. "You're no fun."

"Good." Garen might have smirked, just slightly.

Arianna whacked her hard with the sword, and went back to terrorizing her younger sister.

The Mord'Sith was used to bruising blows, but her eyes followed the young Rahl princess resentfully. She did not approve. Not at all.

-

Kahlan was criminally attractive, Darken decided. Mord'Sith were trained in the ways of seduction, but they were also trained to submit. There was something about the authority Kahlan brought to her sexuality, not the persona of a mistress but mere fiery _will_ , that made him burn.

Never once did he turn her down, for all that strategy told him that it might be better for them both.

Physicality ruled her. He could see it in her eyes when she wrapped her thighs around him, hot and strong, eyes swirling with magic and desire. No more. No less. The way she slipped from her dresses before coming to bed; the way he caught her eyes on him as he sat bare-chested and communicating through journeybook with the Palace. Darken had always suspected that Kahlan could be greedy. Now he was becoming intimate with exactly how much.

Yet as they lay together afterwards, sometimes with his hand on her swelling belly, sometimes with his fingers cupping one of her breasts, it didn't satisfy him like it should. There was the fact that he hadn't won yet...somehow Kahlan could lust without love. It had been years now, and Darken found the ultimate goal slippery and translucent in his grasp. Nothing stayed solid in his life; he could not find rest.

He wondered if D'Hara followed his own life. From war and chaos, to forced peace, to unexpected success and yet rippling disturbance. It would have satisfied his ego, this notion, could he hold more control over it.

"You're nervous." Kahlan's pointed words, so far from a question as to be irritating, drew him from his unsettled thoughts.

With an incoherent noise he rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling of the royal tent. "Not nervous."

And it wasn't a lie. He told himself this, fingers tapping his chest. In a few months his child would be born. Three children, just like his father. A united D'Hara, just like his father. But his children had a mother, and a father who didn't favor one over another. Yet it wasn't enough. All the power and success in the world that one could gain without magic, all the glory and esteem of his people if he could keep it—and he was sure that he could—but it still left him empty.

Empty.

Darken erased the word from his mind as quickly as it had slipped into his thoughts, cursing himself. He had more now than he'd ever had. All he'd ever thought to desire. There was no reason to fool himself into thinking he wasn't satisfied.

Kahlan rolled closer as goosebumps started to dot her skin, and it only made everything worse. Bitterness clogged his throat, but he swallowed it down and forced himself to hold his wife for the sake of the game he still wanted to win. Her body was close to her heart...he was so close to winning. If only he could stop thinking such a victory inadequate now.

The days passed relentlessly by, turning into nearly two months before he and Kahlan returned to the Palace. Home. Kahlan had never said it, but Darken caught a light in her eyes when the stone walls came into view. His bones were weary for his own bed, but his heart wanted more. It was good to have a home.

Sunset colored the courtyard in crimson and gold when they finally rode in. Darken helped Kahlan dismount, her body awkward with the well-advanced pregnancy, and before he could turn he heard a squeal of rage from the balcony above. Whether Arianna or Irene didn't matter, it was their children.

"Spirits keep me from shouting," Kahlan muttered under her breath.

Darken ground his teeth together. They were indeed home. Annoying it might be at times, the responsibility of family, but it was better than nothing. If he and Kahlan agreed on anything, it was on that. He considered—perhaps hoped—that maybe she too wasn't satisfied with that alone. The idea of a shared partner in misery gave him more comfort than he liked.

Kahlan couldn't comfort him the next day, however, when Garen waited for him in the throneroom. Dawn slipped through the upper windows, casting long dusty shadows across the tile floor and softening the severe look of the Mord'Sith as she stood. She did not likewise soften her tone.

"Lord Rahl, your children need to be handled."

"Explain," he said shortly, sitting in the throne and giving her an emotionless look. Darken felt no surprise that Garen was confronting him—it was her nature—but the exact nature of her complaint escaped him at the moment.

"I understand why you wed your Confessor bride," Garen said, shifting to stand in front of him with her arms loosely clasped behind her back. The little jut of her chin, though, implied the opposite of her words. "But D'Hara is no place for Confessors, and you have one come to power without a radahan around her neck. Two more on the way. The entire country is at risk, Lord Rahl, not least myself and my sisters of the agiel. You are immune to their touch, but not all of us have your power."

So here it was at last. Darken sighed, fingertip running along the crease in his lip. His eyes half closed, words just beyond his reach. The very reason he and Kahlan had left, and it seemed they were too late. Garen wasn't the only one, surely, but he imagined that others feared that he would order his wife to Confess all protesters. He had acquired, in a way, the ability to suck the souls of any rebel. Little did they know how much control Kahlan held onto.

"My lord?"

"The Midlands has survived for generations with Confessors running about." Darken stalled, waving his fingers towards his Mord'Sith. "And you fear for D'Hara at the hands of one five-year-old?"

"She is of your blood," Garen said, without faltering. "She hungers for power and she knows the influence her magic has on others. Without loyalty or wisdom, she could sweep through the entire Palace on a whim before we could stop her."

A part of Darken's heart leaped at the thought of such initiative in his child. Rising from his throne, he paced a few steps, wondering if he should take Arianna under his wing to train for her future role as leader. But on a glance back he caught the look of gravity in Garen's dark eyes, and knew that above all else her heart was loyal. D'Hara would fall apart if confessor magic raged uninhibited through its provinces. Hers was not an unwarranted fear. "I need no one to tell me how to handle my own," was all he said at last.

She knew not to be insolent. A swift nod, and she returned to her duties without another word.

Darken gripped the back of his throne until his knuckles went white. Confessor wife, Confessor children, Confessor blood and magic in his heirs' veins. Brought into D'Hara for the sake of adding to his kingdom, yet the costs grew with the passage of each year. He'd grown accustomed to it, to the family he'd constructed.

With a twitch of his fingers, Darken paced back and forth a few steps. What had he been thinking, going with Kahlan on the tour of diplomacy? The House of Rahl had been feared as far back as time could tell, but such fear had kept peace in the land. Restless peace at times, but peace. Lives mattered more than delusions of comfort that lasted only a few years, and Darken had no intention of shackling the gift of fear that his children brought to D'Hara.

Kahlan might see herself otherwise, but Darken relished the dark influence of her power. He smirked slightly, imagining Arianna with such a raw gift combined with the intelligence of a Rahl. Yes, his children would make the entire Palace fear for their souls. Maybe if his servants were worried about that, they wouldn't consider betraying him.

His plans were always so simple. And so simply won, until Kahlan came into the picture. That was the problem.

"Arianna complained to me that one of your Mord'Sith has been harassing her and Irene." Kahlan slipped her shift from her shoulders, the fabric ballooning over her wide belly before falling to the floor. Her long hair fell about her shoulders, making her look soft and vulnerable—completely unlike the blatant authority in her words.

Darken plucked at a loose thread in the sheets though his gaze, still admiring of her figure, followed her as she approached the bed. "And you come complaining to me."

"Those women are not the influence I want around our daughter." Kahlan slipped beneath the sheets. "I won't have it, Darken."

Leaning over, he brushed her hair off her shoulder and planted a brief kiss there. He barely thought why he did so—it no longer bothered her as a mark of his possession, the fact that they were joined as a pair, and he'd never thought of another reason for such intimacies. Yet it was habit, and her skin was soft beneath his lips. "Those women are the only women in the world I would trust my life to. You will not ask me to treat them as common servants."

She turned slightly, and ran her fingernail down his chest. "I ask that you not bed them, and I ask that you keep them away from my daughters. That is all."

Her nail scratched slightly, and when her eyes flicked up to his Darken thought he saw a little hurt. Eyes narrowing, he removed her hand from his chest. "I hear your request, Kahlan. If the matter arises again, I shall deal with it."

They both knew he didn't specify how. Despite that, Kahlan turned on her side and settled back into his embrace, and Darken wrapped his arms around her and their unborn child. It was a habit neither one of them could break.

Darken had welcomed a Confessor to his bed, and she had come willingly in the end. The world would change for them, not the other way around.  



	11. Chapter 11

When even the people of the Midlands started calling her Lord Rahl's wife outside of court, Kahlan felt a sickening weight in her belly. No one forgot that she was the Mother Confessor, but no one cared either that she hallowed the title above all others. Despite how smoothly she spent her day doing things that any Rahl queen would have done, she needed to be just the Mother Confessor.

Just the Mother Confessor married to her greatest enemy, raising his children and accepting his kisses. And more. Her belly did a treacherous flip when she thought of the pleasures he'd given her.

Sometimes the face she saw in the mirror screamed at her to deny him and recall that this was a defeat and disaster. Guiltily her heart ached, and she swore to maintain the distance. But it only lasted a few steps from the dressing room to the bedroom, where the bed reminded her of all the tears and blood they'd shed together over a child's innocent death, and the only comfort was that now they could share something more. Life in her belly, life in their passion, and all of it was a drug she took to keep herself from overwhelming grief.

It was some relief when he caressed her as he always did, as if to break contact would stop his breath. Kahlan didn't care if it was faked or not, she needed to be needed. She would drown in the indulgence, but she would drown with a smile on her lips and it would be worth it. When the world was restored, none of this could weigh on her heart.

The child within her grew, kicking and spinning in her womb, and despite the awkwardness there was still pleasure in the marriage bed. They still came together in the dark, drowning out emptiness with lust.

"Darken..." The whispered word was always enough to convey her desire to him. Wet heat between her legs, throbbing for him; she couldn't say it, but oh how she could feel it. The size of her belly kept him from moving atop her this time, and for a moment she didn't realize what he was doing instead as he kissed down the taut rounded skin. His soft lips spoke of sweetness, and she'd merely wanted arousal.

Then his thumbs were on her thighs, the calloused texture setting her afire, and his breath blew hotly between them. Kahlan shivered in unexpected satisfaction. Her hips bucked, muscles quivering, as Darken's tongue delved deep and skillfully. There was always a kind of smugness in him, she remembered as her eyes rolled back, whenever he gave pleasure. Resentment burned in her chest—and fed her craving. No one had wanted to please her without being confessed before. No matter if it fed his ego, it fed hers as well.

Her body might be awkward but her desire was not. Release came swiftly. A cry of pleasure half escaped her lips before she sucked it in, clinging to the sheets. Everything was a haze for a few long seconds, and she forgot everything, which alone made it bliss.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Darken was rising up from the bed. His arousal was clearly visible even in the dark, and Kahlan knew what he'd do about it as soon as he had privacy. The thought was far from unappealing to her, but there was another one that intrigued her more. The planes and outlines of carefully toned muscle on his body, the gleam of sweat from exertion, the way he moved, all made her want him. Self-hatred accompanied the want sometimes, when he wasn't there. But when he was...when her eyes couldn't pull away...she did things without thinking.

In the blink of an eye she was upright and her hand reached for his, stopping his progress. A flush of embarrassment touched her cheeks and stopped her words, but she didn't need them. Tongue wetting her lips, she shifted to the edge of the bed, and when he met her eyes she wordlessly dared him to mock her.

He didn't. Kahlan dropped to her knees, cupped the length of him in her hand, and gave in to her curiosity. She took him into her mouth before he could protest. Despite her desire to try this, she'd thought it would feel somewhat shameful—but then a shudder ran through Darken and an aching gasp. She tasted a hint of his seed and almost smiled to herself as her tongue swirled around the tip of his cock. Even swollen with pregnancy, she could drive him mad.

Wanton. Wicked. He jerked, groaned, his length throbbing in her mouth. Her husband—and Darken Rahl. Dear spirits she was the Mother Confessor and yet she greedily accepted the needy little thrusts of his hips. When his hand finally found her hair she gasped, but it was only so he could pull free of her lips and spill his seed on her breasts with a moan. She swallowed instinctively regardless, glancing up, seeing the pleasure on his face as he stood with eyes closed, catching his breath.

Darken said nothing when he finally knelt before her, finding a discarded piece of clothing to wipe the sticky fluid from her skin. His eyes swirled hotly, and Kahlan couldn't read all the emotions playing in that deep Rahl blue. As for her own, she couldn't keep a hold on them when her heart still beat wildly at her ribcage—and still she couldn't look away from his eyes.

Rising to his feet and helping her up, he finally spoke words, low and surprised. "Thank you, my wife."

If there was irony in the words, Kahlan didn't hear it, and found herself murmuring, "No need for thanks, husband."

There was a strangeness in his look that she didn't understand, before they returned to bed and to sleep. Kahlan was far too distracted by the strangeness in her own quick-beating heart, falling asleep with the taste of Darken Rahl on her tongue. Where had hatred gone, that she couldn't even find it out of curiosity?

-

Rebellion came like an icy breeze, rattling the limbs of every tree. Darken had known it was coming, had seen the autumn of his peace approach, each hint of unrest like a brown leaf falling to earth. Winter was coming. And had arrived.

"Three towns in total refused to yield taxes," Captain Meiffert said, hands locked behind his back as he stood before Rahl's throne.

Darken's tongue slid over his lip, wetting it, as if he was gathering words. The blonde captain shifted uneasily before his Lord, of course, knowing Darken's temper. But this wasn't new. Darken had weathered this storm, so he thought. Now he realized that he'd been in the calm of the eye, and here was the second half ready to strike.

Dahlia stood at one side of his throne. Kahlan, heavy with child, stood in the shadowy wing. Their expectations openly expressed in their eyes, but oh so opposite.

"My lord?"

"Call the Dragon Corps together," Darken finally said with a flick of his hand.

The captain frowned and blurted out words that he never would have only a few years before. "We don't know why they did so, yet—"

" _You_ don't." Darken had no time to waste on frustrations and ignorance. His fingers tightened, half a fist, as he pictured D'Hara in his head and looked for the weak points. Never would his realm be stable; never would there not be a weak point. "I know for a fact it is not the lowered taxes, nor the peace. I imagine it's the same reason you would rebel, Meiffert, if you had the courage."

"Lord Rahl!" The man looked horrified and offended all at once.

Darken paid him no mind. Emotion could not be granted a foothold now; Meiffert was loyal, the towns were not, and he knew why. It ate at him how obvious it was. "Have the Dragon Corps execute the treasonous officials in each town, from mayor all the way down, until they submit. They've survived Confessor influence in D'Hara for years, only a fool would still protest."

The last words were for Meiffert as well as the towns. At least the captain recognized that much. He bit his tongue, bowed, and departed with Dahlia's accompaniment.

It was not war, but it left a sour taste in Darken's mouth.

Kahlan was behind him before he knew she was there. "Call him back, Darken."

Her words were too thick with meaning, based on an unspoken connection that he was apt to ignore. Words with context, words with _history_ , slipping past his thoughts and making the hairs on his neck bristle. "No one questions my orders."

"No one questions mine either."

Darken turned towards his wife with a sudden glare, frustrations escaping his control so that he could feel them hot in his eyes, on his face. It wasn't rebellion on her face, it was the look that said she'd never submitted in the first place. Oh how he knew that all too well. "This is no longer your kingdom, your _intrusion_ is not required."

"Nor yours," she answered, and this time didn't stop to give him pause. "Or do you not realize what you've said. Confessor influence...I know more about it than you ever will."

Her boldness sparked heat deep within him, more than he wanted to admit, but his swift response stayed distant, snide. "That I doubt, Kahlan, seeing as you've never suffered it."

She paid no heed. It drove him towards madness. "You've ruled for years without need of using fear and threats."

Nearly, he snapped that it had been to seduce her, and he'd been as surprised as she that it had worked beyond that goal. Truth and lies that he didn't have time for, so he skipped over them. "Diversity in leadership is more important than you seem to realize. The right tool for the right moment, Kahlan Rahl. It's the only reason I've been able to be gentle before." His fingers twitched regardless.

Kahlan lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, managing to make him forget that she was bearing his child. She was made of iron, every edge sharp. "You're repeating yourself, Darken. I'm not blind, you're a better leader than I would have expected, but this is just lazy."

He growled and took a step towards her. "Don't play me... I married you, not your well-meant but naive morals."

"Don't kill the rebellious," was all she replied, eyes still hard on his. "You're beyond that."

"Beyond tactics and intelligence?" The laughter came out mocking. He didn't hide even a fraction of his hard scrutiny of her, but she didn't bend. This conversation was too familiar, and he wasn't even thinking, just saying what he'd always said. What had always been true in the past.

Kahlan held herself as if it was her court room, as if by marrying into his household she'd inherited some of his power. Accenting her words with the merest cock of her head, she challenged, "If you want them to believe that I'm no threat, have me killed instead. If you'd rather continue with this peace that you say you've always wanted, find another way. They need to accept that I am a threat, just not if they obey the laws."

Had she been a Mord'Sith, he would have provided a reminder that he didn't need advice unless he asked for it. His blood ran hot, and yet—and yet it was a fleeting desire, not one that consumed him. There was cool expectation of failure in her eyes, and the most pressing need was for him to _subvert_ that expectation and win.

That presumed, of course, that there was any way to win anymore. "I've given my orders to Captain Meiffert," Darken said.

"I heard," Kahlan answered. For a few moments more, her eyes bore into his, and he was almost surprised when she broke first. Walking away at last, to leave him alone with his orders.

Orders he withdrew. Treason still deserved death, but there was a better way—he was not in the mood for another nation-wide rebellion to squash. And this was not the age of war. He hadn't needed Kahlan's reminder, however truthful.

The province was ordered to put the towns on trial. A court for the people and by the people to serve out justice. 'Such as Confessors want all people to have,' was the message Darken sent with the orders. Let his people rankle on that fact. Let _Kahlan_ rankle on that.

That night in their bed, he twisted a lock of her dark hair around one finger and tugged her close, lips scorching as they pressed against her pale forehead.

"You need success." Her fingers slid up his bare chest, ice in comparison to his skin, matching the piercing commentary of her words.

"I always get it," he replied in a barely audible voice.

Her gaze rose. Not quite smug, but he hadn't deceived her into thinking that her advice was abandoned. She'd been a warrior queen long before she'd been his, cutthroat in her own way. She forced him to acknowledge it with every frustrating moment of defiance. But it kept them close, in a quiet dance—once it had been a battle, but he couldn't fool himself into imagining them as enemies now. His mouth pressed over hers, wiping away all words.

The words followed nonetheless, surrounding them in one important truth: they and their kingdom were inseparable, and neither ruled over all.

-

Consciousness came slowly, like the melting of snow in the spring. Her head felt as if a dagger point lodged right between her eyes, and the rest of her felt trampled by horses. Kahlan swallowed the taste of bile in her throat, groaning softly at the pain, trying to remember where she was; her eyelids were heavy and all she felt beneath her was a mattress.

"Lady Rahl, you're awake!" That voice...Kahlan knew that voice. The midwife?

"Kahlan?" And that was Darken, with worry in his voice as well.

Kahlan swallowed and blinked, her eyes slowly opening. Someone moved to sit by her, and when her eyes focused she saw Darken. The worry lines in his forehead made her heart skip a beat, and she whispered hoarsely, "The baby?"

"Alive," Darken placed a hand over hers on the bed.

She collapsed back, starting to remember. The birth had gone well, only she'd been dehydrated, refusing to drink because it made her vomit. It seemed that the midwife's advice to 'hope for the best' had been premature. Kahlan only remembered half the birth before she'd gone dizzy, and only a few moments later the world had gone black.

"Our daughter," Kahlan whispered, eyes half closed as she wrapped her fingers around Darken's, glad that she could finally say the words and know they were real. Morgan was in the past, and now little Natalia would be theirs. "I want to hold her."

"Hold him," corrected the midwife briskly.

Kahlan's eyes snapped open, words failing her as she watched the midwife depart with all the dirty sheets. "Darken—"

"A son," he said. "We have a healthy boy."

Her hands trembled, and a choking sound was all she could manage as she closed her eyes again, all strength gone. A son. How could the spirits be so cruel? But no, all those years things had been fine. All those years, until she started pretending that she could be happy. Happy with _Darken Rahl_. First Morgan and now this, a child she'd have to murder. She shuddered, feeling on the verge of tears. "You must do the deed, I can't," she said without opening her eyes.

"Kahlan..." he said warningly.

"He's a male Confessor!" Kahlan snapped, eyes stinging with hot despair again. "We can't—I can't—"

Darken sat more upright on the bed, tension in every limb. "You would kill our child, after what happened before?"

Kahlan let out a weak cry, shaking her head. The bitterness, the horror, in his voice—she knew it all. She could feel the destruction being wrought on her heart. "He'll bring the world to ruin. Just...take him away."

And without a word Darken left, the bed shifting. She heard a small whimper from an infant, then the door closed and she was left alone in silence.

Kahlan wept as if she'd watched Morgan being torn from her arms all over again, and the physical pain was nothing like the way her heart broke.

She couldn't take this anymore. The games, the lies, all of them throwing consequences at her now. It would break her long before the fifty years were up. Perhaps she should end her life. Darken would raise their children well, he had at least that much in him. Kahlan would be free. She couldn't stay, even if her hands trembled at the thought of leaving the children she had.

No more, though. No more of this masquerade.

When the door opened again, she saw it was Darken through her tears. She choked when she saw the bundle in his arms, ready to vomit if he had brought back the corpse. He placed it in her arms and she nearly screamed before freezing, feeling the warmth and then hearing an infant's needy sound. "Darken, no," she protested. "I said—"

"You will say no more until I've said my piece," he said harshly, and she hadn't heard such emotion before. It made her hold her tongue. "You slept for hours after Nicholas was born, and I held our son. I have no wish to see my country fall under the spell of a monster, but I didn't know if you would wake. So I held our son, and he reached for me just as our daughters did. His eyes are the same blue. I know what things put darkness in a child's soul, but I refuse to believe that they can be dark from birth. I will not put another child in the grave." His voice went hoarse, rough as sandstone, and Kahlan squeezed her eyes shut.

"Male confessors always..." she started to say.

"Don't mistake me for a man who cares," he interrupted with a biting whisper. "I refuse to end his life. If you choose to do so, I will not watch, nor will I ever see your face again." He turned away from her, adding bitterly as an afterthought, "I'm not trying to be a hero to _impress_ you, I only want to see my son live."

Kahlan wanted to scream. The babe in her arms—Nicholas— turned towards her breast, whimpering when he couldn't latch on, and she didn't know what to do. Darken hadn't left the room, waiting for her choice.

Duty warred with her heart, reason with longing, and all the past nine months weighed on her heart. The battle that had been raging for seven years of her marriage ended with a victory of her heart. "Shh, shh, mama's here," Kahlan said through tears as she helped Nicholas to his first feeding. "Mama loves you."

Darken's exhale was audible even where he stood across the room. He looked back. Kahlan met his gaze and saw anger replaced by gratitude. Insane as it might be for them both, it was potent enough to slip past the defenses of her heart. When he sat by her side again, a protective arm around her and their son, she followed her desire and wearily rested her head against his chest.

-

"My lord, you have a visitor." Dahlia's lips curved in a smile as she stepped aside.

Darken looked up from the journeybook—too far up, it seemed. A little cough broke the silence, and his eyes cast downwards. "Irene."

The girl, nearly four years old, nodded with the tiniest of smiles. "I'm not allowed to be here," she said in a whisper, "but mother says I need to invite you to the secret event."

Darken blinked. "The what?"

"Shh, father." Irene put a finger to her lips. "It's secret." She beckoned with her hand. "Quickly, before the people find out."

A frown touched his brow, and he glanced up to his first Mord'Sith. She, as always, shrugged slightly and had no words. Morbidly curious, but sighing all the same, Darken rose from his seat and walked over to lift his daughter into his arms. "Since when did you start calling me father?"

Irene tucked her face between his neck and shoulder. "Mistress Dahlia says 'dada' is not appropriate now that I'm not a baby."

Eyebrow rising, Darken murmured, "So I see. Did she also say it's not appropriate to keep secrets from the Lord Rahl?"

"No," Irene said, wiggling in his hold, "but mother said it had to be a secret. I didn't want to tell Mistress Dahlia but she wouldn't let me see you if I didn't."

"Hmm." Bemused and lost, Darken walked through the torch-lit hallways towards the royal chambers. Since Nicholas' birth only two weeks before, something had changed in Kahlan. At first his skin had prickled, eyes sharp on her as she held their new son. Trust was not a virtue Darken had ever taken to heart, and he knew just how ruthless his wife could be. But she'd done nothing. Said nothing. Motherhood crowned her far more than Confessor pride. Darken didn't trust that either, of course.

Darkness waited just outside the Palace walls, he sensed, for his entire family. Nicholas' birth had brought it inside for the most terrifying of moments—he'd made Kahlan cast it out, but it was still there. Just beyond them all. Sometimes he looked at his children and wondered if they'd ever realize how cruel their parents were to them. Heirs were what he wanted, and so he'd taken them. Kahlan also, though for reasons he hadn't discerned. But the girls were not objects or tools, and Darken could nearly hear the sand falling through the hourglass. When it stopped flowing they would turn on him and Kahlan both; that was always the result, when the broken schemed using unbroken lives.

Thoughts like these followed Darken until he reached the door, and Irene bounced in his arms. Leaving behind cruel reality, he put on the role that was his favorite now and walked into the room as nothing more than the proud father.

Arianna sat in a chair with baby Nicholas on her knee, trying to imitate his faces. Propped up by pillows, Kahlan sat in the center of the bed and brushed her hair till it shone, looking up when he entered. "I see you found him," she said to Irene with a minuscule smile.

Letting his daughter down so she could run and hop up onto the bed, Darken cast a cautious look to his wife. "Kahlan?"

"The children asked for you." Her lips tightened a bit. "And I said I wasn't sure if you'd come. They said you always come. So we put it to the test."

"A test..." Darken grimaced without thinking, as if walking into a trap. He sat, eyes leaping from one face to the next before settling on Kahlan. "I was pulled away from important work, I hope it was for more than a mere test."

"As I said, the children asked for you." Kahlan sighed a little, nodding towards where Irene sat next to Arianna and Nicholas.

"Of course they did, I'm their father." More for himself than for her, Darken let the words fall from his lips as he took Kahlan's hand in his and turned his face to his offspring. "And what do they want of me, that they dare bother the Lord Rahl?" Arianna giggled at the curl of his lip and lofty tone, as he intended, and in the blink of an eye they were a normal family. It was cheating to play the game of life like this, with more acting than believing. Better cheating than failure, Darken told himself yet again.

The children's laughter was genuine, at least. They played fingergames and word games and Arianna challenged him to a duel with swords. Kahlan scoffed when he trounced her easily, and Arianna said it didn't count. Darken countered that he would not go easy on anyone; he would never be anything but himself. Someday the children would catch the irony of that, but for now it blew straight over their heads.

"I told them they could sleep here," Kahlan whispered at last, when Darken finished his grave reading of the fairy tale and noticed that all three heads were deposited sleepily on his or Kahlan's lap.

With a small grunt, Darken shifted Arianna's head to rest on Kahlan. "I will return to work, now that they've had their fill of me." The acridity hanging on the edges of the words surprised even him.

"Stay." Kahlan's voice was quiet, an order not a request.

"Is this my reward for passing your test?"

"You would have passed it even if I hadn't challenged you." Hard as burnished steel, her eyes dared him to deny it.

Dignity demanded departure. Pride demanded it. But it would have fooled no one, least of all the four in this room. Swallowing, he leaned back against the headboard. "You sparked my curiosity tonight, I won't deny it, but I'm not at your beck and call."

"Tell me about Arianna's namesake."

He flinched as if struck, jaw snapping shut. Wooing him with all his vain dreams of familial joy, then thrusting a dagger in his back—he should have expected this from her. Something like anger bubbled to the top of his ever-simmering cauldron of emotions, an anger so old he'd forgotten what it felt like. Darken kept his hand firmly on Arianna's head to keep from clenching his fingers. He couldn't run now. "My mother died when I was very young, as I said before."

"And you killed your father before you came to manhood." Out of the corner of his eye he could feel Kahlan's gaze on him as she spoke steadily. "But you told me once you were raised a child of blood, and you never explained it. I can't make the pieces fit, Darken."

Looking down at where Arianna slept with her head pillowed on her hands, he carefully ran his fingers through her downy locks, untangling the soft dark curls. "It is not a subject for idle curiosity," he cautioned, trying to keep his focus on the curtain that hid his inner self. He was a father, a father and a husband. The rest was gone, gone, gone.

The familiar weight of her hand on his shoulder, a command and a tease in the same touch, made his spine lock into place. She said then, "I've borne four of your children, Darken Rahl, it's hardly idle any longer. You murdered your father, named our daughter after your lost mother, and refused to even consider the death of our son. Don't tell me that this puzzle isn't one I need solved."

Seven years ago he would have struck her for her persistent insolence, asking things that no one should ever ask, least of all his wife. Seven years ago he would have left the room and demanded blood or pleasure or both at once. Seven years ago the idea that someone would care enough to ask would have made him laugh humorlessly. He knew better then. Over half a decade since and he'd lost just as much of himself as he'd gained.

In the fireplace a log cracked and sent sparks to the hearth. The candles flickered. Kahlan waited, and Darken hated how they both knew that he would give in. Worse, his ego demanded that he take advantage of a conversation about him. Ancient anger still throbbed in his chest, though, and he knew it would only burn hotter if he opened the doors to his past.

Yet at last he spoke, slowly and carefully. "Arianna Stark became Queen of D'Hara barely nine months before I was born. She was the price for the Starks' continued loyalty to D'Hara, and despite her title never saw more than the queen's suite on the west side of the Palace. My father bedded her until she quickened with child, and returned to his concubines as before. When I was born a healthy son, apparently he told my mother that her purpose in life was completed. She was to raise me until I could be handed over to my tutors, and then he could forget about her entirely." Darken paused to unclench his hand. "I don't remember my mother ever being happy."

Kahlan shifted, the sheets rustling as she faced him. "What's your first memory of her?"

"If I had any memories of her before her death, I can't recall them now," he answered harshly. The anger choking his throat wasn't for Kahlan, but he couldn't swallow it all back. He heard his voice speaking the words, as if he was listening to the tale instead of speaking it. "I was four years old. She put me in my crib, tucked me under the blanket that bore the Rahl insignia." Fingertips brushing the crimson sheets of the bed, his voice dropped. "It was a cream colored blanket. So was her dress. I watched as she crossed the room to the bed, took a silver dagger in her hand, and slit her own throat without a second's hesitation."

Kahlan made a soft cry, fingers rising to her lips, and he wanted to shout at her for the weakness. Or perhaps he wanted to shout at himself for the way his voice was barely more than a murmur now. "I climbed out and ran to her side. Her body slipped to the floor, I followed it. By the time anyone found us I was sitting in a pool of my mother's blood."

He sucked in a deep breath and the air felt like sandpaper scraping all the way to his chest, ripping him apart from the inside. Even worse he could hear Kahlan's breathing, unsteady as if she was on the verge of tears. _Why_ he wanted to demand of her. _Isn't it no more than I deserve, in your eyes? You have told me that so many times..._

Darken took a deep breath and continued. "I told the Mord'Sith who took me away from the scene that I wanted to become a healer, so I could fix my mother. Mistress Nathair was the first to explain to me what death was. And so I studied death. My father hated me for it, but I hated him first for what he did to her. That is how I am a child of blood, Kahlan, because the first memory of my life is being pulled from my mother's blood as I screamed. And before I was a man full grown I made sure I had guilty blood on my hands instead. My father's blood." He spat the words as he always spat them. "I'm a child of weakness, petty cruelty, and blood. That is my heritage. If that is why I shall never know love, then so be it. I feel no guilt for my choices."

"Darken..." Kahlan's voice was soft, too soft. It was gentle, when all he wanted to do was hurt. He had never hated her more than when she did not, and he could feel burning in his eyes.

The clarity in hers was intoxicating, so that he didn't notice when she raised a hand to his face. Not an ounce of Confessor remained in her at that moment, only Kahlan, when she met his eyes and said, "You're not without love. You know mine."

Words he'd told himself would be the perfect victory, and they felt like an vicious slap. Gripping her hand tightly enough that she gasped in pain, he pulled it from his face. "You don't love me," he said, and put her hand firmly on her lap.

Before she could answer he rose from the bed and left. He'd manufactured his own labyrinth of insanity.


	12. Chapter 12

In the end, all the taxes were collected without need of bloodshed. Darken made sure of that, for nothing more than to keep Kahlan away from him. She'd changed more than his realm had, and he preferred policies now. He had to.

More than ever he itched to possess Orden. More than ever he knew that having it would have been a flawed victory. He danced between weakness and strength instead. D'Hara had no choice in these matters—never had, never would—but morality and logistics both required a little sugar to help the inevitable medicine go down smoothly. Peace was slippery as a fish, but Darken had a firm grip.

He walked the dark halls, all his thoughts on what lay beyond his own house. Never on what lay within.

"I will confess you!" The high-pitched threat came from just around the corner.

Darken hastened his step until he found the source. Arianna stood on tip-toes, all fire and fury as she stood up to Mistress Garen. The Mord'Sith, a healthy two paces away from the child, had a glare that should have turned his daughter to stone.

"I can go anywhere, I'm the heir!" Arianna was nearly shouting in frustration. "Get out of my way, Garen."

"Mistress," the Mord'Sith snapped, and her hand strayed too close to her agiel.

"What is this?" Darken approached them both, not hiding a scowl.

Neither backed down an inch. "Your daughter needs training" and "You have to get rid of her, father" came simultaneously to his ears.

Perhaps another day he would have seen it as amusing. All he saw today was a firebrand, a box of dragon's breath ready to explode. Rahl and Amnell blood combined had not made Arianna calm or reasonable, but they had given her magic. In theory he found it admirable; in practice, all he saw was danger. "Come here, child," he ordered without gentleness.

"Only if you get rid of her," Arianna grumbled, walking over to her father.

Darken knelt on one knee and gripped her shoulder, hard. "Whose house is this, Arianna?"

"The House of Rahl," she answered, confused, squirming slightly in his hard grasp.

"It's my house," he said, not sparing her the Lord Rahl stare. His child or not, she was pushing herself into affairs far beyond her years. "And Mistress Garen is my Mord'Sith. If you dare to challenge that, then you are a stupid child."

Hurt, his daughter tried to wrench free of his hand. "I'm not stupid! I need to be in charge, to practice for when I'm Lord Rahl."

Oh how he recognized the ambition, the planning, in her blue eyes. But he didn't pause or smile. "And just tell me, Arianna, how you'll be in charge if the only loyalty you have is forced."

Her nose wrinkled a little. "I don't understand..."

Darken looked back up to the Mord'Sith. "Mistress Garen, why do you serve me?"

"Because you are my Lord Rahl."

"What does that mean? Explain for the child, Garen."

The Mord'Sith had relaxed a little, and addressed Arianna with smug satisfaction. "It means that you have proven yourself the rightful leader of D'Hara, Lord Rahl."

Darken reached up and turned Arianna's chin so that she looked him in the eye. "Proven, daughter. Remember that. Forced loyalty—forced love—is rarely worth the price."

"But then _how_?" Her stubbornness was failing a little, touched by desperation.

Some of Darken was annoyed with his child for having such dangerous ambition. The country called Confessors bloodthirsty, and her deeds were not disproving the stereotype yet. But she was also his daughter, and worthy of his pride and affection. He couldn't help but give her a more conspiratorial look. "It takes many years to learn that."

"Well, I'm little, but not _that_ little." Arianna cast another glare up at Garen before looking to him again. "You can teach me, father."

He would have smiled at her bright eyes, if the world was right. But it wasn't, and so instead he rose and placed a hand on her head. An idea had struck him. "No, I have no time. Mistress Garen can."

The leather-clad woman looked up in horror, like an animal in a trap. "Lord Rahl?"

"It's my wish that you teach my daughter what makes a Rahl worthy of service." Darken made sure his eyes warned Garen that dissent would not be allowed.

"But father!"

"But Lord Rahl!" Clearly, Garen had ignored the warning.

With a growl, Darken raised his hand. "I will not brook complaints. I have a nation to attend—do as you're told, and know that no one is allowed to end up hurt or confessed."

He broke free of them, departing down the hall and leaving the girl and the Mord'Sith to take in what he'd said. Crisis momentarily averted. Let no one say that he didn't take into account the dangers of Confessors.

Confessors. The word tried to shift his focus, but he refused. Hands clenched, he continued with Lord Rahl duties. There were so many. Enough for a lifetime, and so he would spend a lifetime avoiding the Confessor in his bed.

-

If ever there was a time when the Mord'Sith were obsolete, it was this one, Dahlia decided. Confessors on the loose in the Palace, peace throughout the land, and a Lord Rahl who did more paperwork and bedtime stories than he did torture—well, the only pain Dahlia had felt recently had been self inflicted. Garen had remarkable talent at using an agiel to bring both pain and pleasure, but it wasn't quite the same.

Then again, Dahlia had no competition now. So that was a change for the better.

As of the moment, the House of Rahl seemed like the reenactment of a play rather than a military dictatorship. Dahlia had been at Darken Rahl's side on the day he made Kahlan his wife, and in the seven years since then she'd been as close to the inner circle as Mord'Sith were allowed. Not as close as Dahlia would have hoped, but then again, she preferred the company of her sisters when it came to bedmates; Lord Rahl was skilled in bed, but Dahlia didn't mind going without as long as she had Garen.

She had a fondness for Darken, though, and not least because of Cara's closeness to him once upon a time. For all his emotional outbursts, he ruled D'Hara well, and there was structure and order. Both of which Dahlia valued, and she had no issues with the means with which Darken achieved them. When Rahl was happy, D'Hara was happy, and Dahlia thought that a good sign. But Darken was not happy now, and Dahlia needed no more than her eyes to see why.

Today she hadn't even seen Darken, but had no doubts as to where he was. Standing straight as a watchtower outside the throne-room, hands clasped behind her back, she also had no doubts as to what brought the Queen striding up the hall.

Kahlan, as always, looked the part. Four childbirths had made her figure richer, but still stunningly trim in the deep burgundy high-necked gown she currently wore. Her fine hair curled around the braided coif on her head, drawing attention to the sharp lines of her face. "Dahlia, where is my husband?" she demanded with some heat when she stood before Dahlia.

Avoiding even an eyebrow raise, Dahlia answered in the opposite tone, "His movements are not free and open to the public."

"I'm his _wife_." Kahlan stepped closer, eyes flashing. Dahlia wondered if she realized that once she would have used the Mother Confessor card first.

"And I'm his first Mistress," she answered the Queen, cocking her hip slightly and smiling. "He didn't tell me to let you know where he is. Lord Rahl always has a reason."

"A foolish one, sometimes." Kahlan's fingers twitched, her eyes not fully on the Mord'Sith in front of her.

She had a temper, Kahlan Rahl did. Dahlia cast her gaze up and down the tense figure in front of her. For once, she hadn't hidden all her emotions behind a Confessor mask. With all the vibrant energy emanating from her, she might as well have bared her heart to the whole world. It was about time, Dahlia told herself, reading the emotions in her eyes. Still, she said after a moment's silence, "Take it from someone who knows him well, he does not need your interference."

"He's being a fool, and won't stop if no one tells him," Kahlan answered bluntly.

"Hmm." Dahlia kept her tone non-committal, meeting Kahlan's eyes a little more directly. "You would try to tell him what to do, then? I've heard of less impossible tasks in fairy tales."

"You don't understand the situation." Kahlan sighed and tucked a curl behind her ear.

Dahlia smirked inwardly. The royal couple were hardly the most discreet, and Dahlia had a talent for putting puzzle pieces together without needing a pattern. "I understand that Lord Rahl is a damaged man, and wife or not you can't change that with anger."

The Mother Confessor gave Dahlia a stare, one that Denna would have approved of. Dahlia almost felt intimidated, even though the radahan was clearly visible around her neck. "Mistress Dahlia," Kahlan said coolly, "I think I know my husband well enough by now. More than you ever will, and this situation is my business."

It took a few moments for Dahlia to swallow, and decide that Kahlan needed a little more time for her emotions to stew. Volatility now could destroy them all. "Go back to your chambers, Lady Rahl. And understand that if you break Lord Rahl's heart again, I will not hesitate to end you and suffer Triana's fate."

Kahlan looked surprised by that. "The both of you have no idea..." She trailed off and turned, walking swiftly away.

Blinking, Dahlia realized that she couldn't imagine how Kahlan would have finished that sentence. She'd noticed many changes in the Queen that she approved of, but now she was wondering what she had missed.

-

Five days. He'd left her alone for five days. Kahlan had ran the gamut of emotions over those days, but was now solidly set on frustration. Standing in the center of the chamber, running her fingertip over the indent on her left hand where her wedding ring normally sat, she tried to calm her heart and thoughts and just wait.

A little separation had been necessary. Once comprehending what she'd admitted to Darken, Kahlan cried shakingly into her pillow that night and wondered if she was mad. Guilt, confusion, fear, insecurity...they ached and made her feel sick, but at least they told her that she still had her wits. With a pounding heart she looked into her own mind for the first time in nearly eight years, and still recognized herself.

It was then that he should have returned. So many thoughts battered against her skull, demanding a voice, and only _he_ could hear them. She'd never had a friend, never told anyone her most intimate thoughts but him and Richard, and Richard was gone. For a moment she'd considered Dahlia as an option—the woman had been loyal and controlled, even decently human, and had an intelligence that Kahlan would not have suspected previously. A few seconds later and she laughed bitterly, throwing aside that possibility and stubbornly holding onto her words.

Darken refused to come to her by night or day, but she could be more determined than him. She'd wait for the opportune moment. Waiting increased the frustration, but Kahlan needed Darken Rahl, and he would come to her. He had to.

Finally the door slammed open and Darken stormed in with a ripple of long robes, holding her wedding ring up between thumb and forefinger. His voice had all the tension of a drawn bowstring. "I found this on my throne. Explain."

Relieved at his arrival, Kahlan faced him with forced composure. "I promised to be your wife in all ways once. Considering your recent behavior towards me, I think the wifely course of action now would be dissolution of our marriage."

Several heartbeats passed in silence, as Darken Rahl stood stock still, eyes locked on hers. Finally he murmured, "Impossible."

"I know," Kahlan answered. "But since you denied me the opportunity to speaking with you by not coming to our bed..."

There was a pause. Darken's eyes narrowed then, and he folded the ring into the palm of his hand. "You were never serious with the threat."

"I'm very serious." Kahlan loosened her clenched hands, voice low. "But yes, I manipulated you. As you've done to me ever since our wedding night, so don't try being indignant."

Judging by his expression, he'd never been sure how much of his plotting she'd recognized. "You are a formidable woman," Darken said in a near-growl, starting to pace. Kahlan had always found him somewhat catlike—now he was a tiger in a cage, agitated and unsettled.

"And you know nothing of me, so it seems," she murmured. "Stop telling yourself that you can hide, and look."

He complied, but it was like staring into a mirror. Every part of him guarded, blocked off, revealing nothing. Defiance glittered in his dark blue eyes.

Kahlan took a deep breath, not letting the defenses overwhelm her resolution to _speak_. "What you told me about your childhood...you'd never told anyone that before." She didn't wait for his answer; it wasn't a question. "But when I didn't give the answer you expected, you ran away like a hurt child." She saw him tense, saw anger bloom across his face as he took a few steps closer to her. Letting her glare loose before he said a word, she snapped, "And if you think that hitting me will stop this conversation and give you your sense of control back, think again. You can't take back what you said, so don't you dare try, Darken."

He drew close and took her jaw in his hand. She didn't move or protest; she'd knocked his equilibrium loose, and meant to keep it that way. His voice was unsteady with a dozen emotions. "I'm not the one who needs to take back what was said."

"I meant every word," Kahlan replied unflinchingly. Her hand reached up to rest on his arm, and she heard his breath catch.

"You gave me pity." Darken spat the words, not even hiding the raw hurt behind them.

"I gave you love!" Kahlan hadn't meant to say the words so loudly, but her throat had twisted and they almost echoed in the room, empty and dark but for the two of them. She swallowed, not pulling her eyes from his, as all the planned words spilled from her lips in a torrent. "You've never known either, but I have, and I—" she almost whispered "—love you. Not with fluttering heart and starry eyes, that's just infatuation. No, I know who you are, all your horrors and cruelties and desires and hopes. I know who you are and still..." Kahlan sucked in a breath, eyes dropping. Words were failing her and she clenched her jaw.

"Say it again."

Kahlan wasn't sure she'd really heard the words, then he let go of her chin. She met his eyes again and the walls in them were cracking, so she gave him the truth he asked for. "I love you."

On his face was the shock that she'd dealt with, and the unwanted guilt as well, so sharp it nearly cut her to look at. "You shouldn't."

She lifted her fingers to brush his cheek, as he'd once done knowing she would hate it. "You wanted me to love you for all the wrong reasons, and in all the wrong ways. But things changed. You made me a mother...and you can't deny that both of us know nothing about love compared to our children. Even when we fail, they remember what's worth remembering and never forsake their love for us. We've both learned from them."

He shuddered, as if the truth hurt more than the lie that all she did was pity him. Yet he didn't pull from her touch, and she felt his pulse beat hot and fast beneath her fingertips. Closing her eyes for a second, the first memory that came to mind was simply lying in his arms as Nicholas slept on her chest, Darken's broad hand splayed over the tiny babe's back. Never more sure of her thoughts than in that moment, she opened her eyes again and looked straight into his. "There is good in you, Darken Rahl. There is worth. And I'm not looking for the kind of love that minstrels sing about. I might have had that once with Richard, I don't know—I barely knew him a year, and it doesn't matter now. But despite all the things you've done that I should hate, I love you. I'm not blind, and I love you anyway."

There was a lost bewilderment in his eyes, and a caution that even now held on, as if he still couldn't believe her. "And I thought I was the fool..." he murmured, staring at her like she was brand new.

She flinched, courage failing. Suddenly she too was a child, defenses left behind, and if she'd read him wrong he could stab her straight through the heart with a single word. Kahlan, Mother Confessor, had just made herself vulnerable to Darken Rahl. "And?" she asked, hand tightening into a fist.

The words had barely left her lips before his arms were around her waist and she forgot to breathe. Holding her to his chest, she could feel the quick pace of his heart against her own. "I should never have played games with you," he said then.

Everything that had been building over the last seven years prepared to flood into her heart, and she couldn't move a muscle with the anticipation.

No longer did he hold her like she might disappear at any moment. "You are the only woman worthy to be my Queen," Darken murmured at last, pressing his lips to her forehead. "And I love you."

Kahlan could have laughed, had she any breath left. Everything sounded so flat and cliche, not enough to wipe away all the bitterness and strife. They needed new words, and she didn't know how to find them. So she didn't. With a cracked smile, she looked up at her husband and kissed him.

He made the slightest of noises, fingers tangling in her hair, and kissed back. No more words, just a touch that spoke of all the love they'd never known, and all the love they'd hopelessly found in each other despite all obstacles. Masks had been tossed aside, and they clung to this instead. The intensity almost hurt as it filled the emptiness in Kahlan's heart, and time no longer mattered.

-

If there was one thing Darken would never tell Kahlan, it was just how much he'd lied and schemed to bring them to this place. Convincing himself that it was because it didn't count, that things had turned out so differently from his plans that he couldn't be sure of the cause of anything, was a poor excuse and he knew it. He had not won her heart fairly. But then again, neither had she. Kahlan had stolen it from him in the darkest of vulnerable times, and he'd let her.

No, that had not been part of the plan at all. And so all those schemes and plans were chaff in the end. Nearly all D'Hara listened as he gave the yearly speech and took their devotions. Still restless and not entirely united, they came together for him. The Midlands were there for Kahlan. They were one, and when he finished the speech he let old manipulations and goals fly away on the breeze.

Kahlan lay a hand on his arm, when he turned back from the crowds. "They still want freedom. They won't be happy with anything less."

"I don't need them to be happy, I need them to be safe." Taking her arm and walking back indoors, he said the words with deliberate force. She might have his heart but not his strategy in her grasp.

She sighed, lips twitching, but said nothing.

Guards left them be once the curtains were drawn, and Darken turned to look at her, taking his first full glance since breakfast. "This color is especially good on you." One forefinger trailed the turquoise neckline of her gown, gaze taking in the white cleavage before rising to meet her eyes. "It matches your eyes."

"I'm sure that's what you like most about it," she said with still a hint of annoyance. "And you're changing the subject."

He smirked, ignoring her second sentence, and dragged his finger back down between her breasts. "I didn't say most, Kahlan."

The unrelenting fire in her eyes, the sense of right and wrong that would never leave him be, translated as passion when he dragged her to him for a heated kiss. Her fingers dug into his scalp as she fought for dominance in the kiss, demanding pleasure at least if they couldn't agree on politics. Agreeing to disagree had never been so attractive, he discovered as he refused to surrender, his tongue battling with hers.

Kahlan was insatiable. He'd thought so once, when she'd been pregnant with Nicholas, but that was nothing compared to a Kahlan who had admitted to feelings. One time he had taunted her that she was afraid of liking the less-than-pure side of life. Now she accepted that unashamedly. Bedding him, accepting that he'd never be perfect, and all the while never losing track of what perfection meant. He was morbidly proud of her skills at compromising, and deeply, lustily, in love with her.

Her teeth raked greedily at his neck when he broke the kiss, punishing him for still playing the dictator. He had her spun around in his arms in an instant, one hand down her neckline and the other pulling her skirts up.

"Darken," she said with a moaning growl, thrusting her hips back at him.

"Any requests?" he purred in her ear, bending her over the nearest chaise and tugging down his trousers.

"Hard," she breathed, barely more than a whisper, and he could feel her squirm with arousal.

Dress bunched around her waist, he thrust into her from behind, and the rest of the world was forgotten in the slick heat of joining. She groaned, arched, clenched about his cock and gasped for breath. The Mother Confessor, so it seemed, wanted to make up for so many years of abstinence as quickly as possible—without shame. And Lord Rahl had never been quite so satisfied as he was now, buried deep in the only woman who accepted him and knew him and wanted him anyways. She eventually came gasping his name, and he bent over to kiss her neck as he took her with a few more thrusts, finally losing himself with a low groan.

"I still think you're asking for disaster," she said breathlessly when they pulled apart, meeting his eyes squarely as she adjusted her clothing.

"I'm sure you do," he answered, rebuttoning his trousers.

She refused him a kiss for that, and went on to be the Mother Confessor and take care of duties. Darken watched her leave, still catching his breath and satisfied in the knowledge that her spark was from honesty and love. It was in him too, that spark. Unwillingly at first, but he'd purposely given in at the end. All this chaos where he had little control and less privacy was of his making.

Behind all the smirks and passionate glares as well as kisses, he was surprised that it hadn't fallen apart yet. Surprising or not, it hadn't.


	13. Chapter 13

Sunlight bathed Kahlan as she stood on the balcony, letting her three-month-old son get his first taste of the open air. Her little Nicholas, with hair as blonde as Dennee's—or Panis Rahl, as Darken pointed out with a disgusted curl to his lip. She didn't ask about it. She didn't ask Darken about much. Admitting to love and lust did not equal harmony.

Moments occurred of true honesty, Kahlan knew. She cherished them, and didn't discount how long it had taken to get this far. But it never lasted.

She'd never assumed it would, but the craving didn't disappear. Sparks flew between them all on their own, the heat and electricity and power of sexuality, and even contained by the radahan she felt the sweet release of magic on orgasm. Her own needs called for her to take advantage of the marriage bed, but she pushed Darken for it more and more with something beyond hedonistic pleasure in mind. Darken seemed incapable of maintaining a mask after reaching his climax, and then Kahlan could forget the world in his arms. She could feel the connection between them, two broken hearts trying to mend, and feel like she had an answer to a question she could never put into words.

Then, by the time they woke in the morning, it would be faded again. Kahlan could always see in Darken's eyes that there was more to the man than even he wanted to admit...but knowing wasn't the same as understanding. What little she understood was enough for love, but didn't even begin to satisfy what she wanted.

She had to believe, for all his reticence, that Darken felt the same. He loved to talk. He loved to explore. But rarely with her, and rarely about important things. A life of masks and hurt could not be overturned all in a few years. There was baggage even between them, Kahlan could feel, and sometimes she could admit to herself that she probably wouldn't be entirely honest even if he did open conversations. He was still the villain, somewhere inside that dark head.

Love and lust and family went a long way, and Kahlan could find superficial happiness, but nothing was perfect. Not by a long shot.

"Queen! Queen!"

Kahlan turned from the window at the high-pitched voice to see a toddler running towards her. He crashed into her leg, looking up immediately; by his dark hair, brown eyes, and copious freckles, she recognized Mistress Garen's bastard Joseph. "Yes?" she asked, curious at his presence. While being raised at the Palace, he wasn't often near the royal suite.

"You need to hide me from mother," he gasped out, clinging to her skirts. "She won' let me play with the princesses."

Frowning, Kahlan stooped to the boy's level. "What does Mistress Garen have to do with my children?"

Squirming like he was uncomfortable in his own skin, Joseph bit his lip and mumbled, "When she's done with Ari, she won' let me play with her."

Her blood went cold in an instant. "Your mother shouldn't be anywhere near Arianna. And she shouldn't be 'playing' with her." She rose to her feet. "If her father agreed to this..."

Kahlan stormed off, hardly noticing that Joseph still followed with a confused look, apparently hoping he'd get playtime with his half-siblings out of this mess. The Mord'Sith were no longer quite foes, but neither were they friends. It was one of those things that she and Darken managed to never talk about.

It took forever to find her husband, and she found him in the farthest wing from their chambers.

"Father!" Joseph ran forward, disregarding protocol and reaching up in a request to be lifted.

Startled from reverie, Darken looked at him as if he was a gar.

"You deliberately ignored my wishes," Kahlan said without preface, bouncing Nicholas in one arm to keep him quiet.

"I did, my queen?" Darken's tone seemed bewildered, and she could see that it wasn't an act.

It didn't improve her mood. "The Mord'Sith. And our daughter. I can't believe you allowed this, after what I told you." Judging by the uncomprehending look on her husband's face, she prepared herself for the realization that she'd assumed too much of him.

But he just stared at her, and a prickle went up her spine. None of this was settling right in her gut. Nicholas in her left arm, cradled close to her chest, she whipped a dagger from her sleeve in the blink of an eye and stepped up to the man who looked just like her husband. Silver glinted at his throat before he caught a breath. "What have you done with my husband?"

The man quivered like jelly on the verge of melting. "Please don't hurt me, I'm not an enemy!"

He had the same eyes, the same build, the same clothes and timbre of voice as her Darken. The rest was the opposite of the man she reluctantly loved. Kahlan's stomach clenched as she considered the mirror device or other such powerful magic. "Answer my question!"

"I'm just a decoy, just a double!" Terror was the only emotion on the man's face as he shrunk back from Kahlan's dagger, hands up defensively. "Darken Rahl knows, he knows who I am, he made me like this. Please don't hurt me, Queen Kahlan..."

Nicholas started to cry, and Joseph hid behind Kahlan's skirts. She stood there, not moving, confused.

"Kahlan?"

Almost falling over Joseph, she wheeled around, raising the blade again. Another man who _looked_ like Darken Rahl stood before her with a guarded stance and expression. "Who are you?"

The second man's lip twitched, and his brow furrowed—it was so like Darken that Kahlan almost relaxed. But without an explanation of any of this, she refused to be taken in. "This man is of no concern, he is but my look-alike," he said after a brief pause. "I'm Darken Rahl—the one and only." The tiniest smirk accompanied the comment.

"You do a better job at him, yes, but that's no proof." Kahlan flicked the tip of her dagger between the identical men, eyeing them each in turn. "And if you think that you have the advantage of me because I'm holding a child, think again."

The newly arrived Darken rolled his eyes, making an annoyed sound as he swiftly brought to life a rose constructed of glowing orange magic. It was surprising—and Kahlan had been around enough wizards to know that it was no trickery. "I can also go into detailed description about the pattern of freckles on your hips, but preferably not while Walter is present."

Despite her flash of a glare, Kahlan felt instant relief. Dagger sheathed, she bounced Nicholas as he still fussed. "No need. But you would have done the same in my position."

"Of course I would have." Darken came to retrieve his son from her arms, giving the tiny boy a pat on the back until he recognized his real father and settled. Then, turning darkly on the other man: "Do you need an engraved invitation to return to your quarters?"

Walter stammered incoherently, nodded his head in a dutiful bow, and scurried down the corridors into shadow.

Kahlan was left bewildered but mostly prickly from the encounter. "You should have told me that you had a double."

Darken shrugged. "I forget about him myself, when I have no need."

Sighing, Kahlan turned to see Joseph watching them both, looking as if he envied Nicholas in Darken's arms. It reminded her of the accusatory tone she'd started with. "I was looking for you. Joseph says that Garen and Arianna have been spending time together."

He stood, waiting for her to continue.

Kahlan took a step forward, tone getting hotter. "I don't want my daughters to grow up with the Mord'Sith as playmates."

"Mistress Garen is not a playmate," Darken said scornfully. "She's teaching our daughter to not be so swollen-headed with arrogance and naivete. I thought something needed to be done _before_ she made the castle revolt."

Narrowing her gaze, Kahlan took another step. "And you think that I couldn't do it just as well? I know more of leadership and naivete than the Mord'Sith, that I know for sure. She's my daughter, Darken, and she's a Confessor. Don't make decisions over my head." She let her eyes flash momentarily.

Her husband raised a brow. "I am used to dealing with Mord'Sith, and making my own decisions. I was not trying to offend you."

It was as close to an apology as she was like to get. Despite her frustrated sigh, Kahlan was mollified for a while. Sometimes Darken failed to realize his own naivete about everything human. Kahlan could be patient. There wasn't really another choice.

-

His mask was still missing. Darken had been distracted just a moment too long, and something had happened to it. This was the point where he was supposed to smirk, brush a fingertip down Kahlan's jaw, and tell her that his victory was finally complete. He was the better brother in all ways.

Yet when he reached up to take off the mask and reveal his dark plan, he found only his own face. It was like seeing the wrong reflection in a mirror. _What have I become?_ he asked to the silent night, since he had no one else to ask.

A man who preferred to see love on a Confessor's face rather than humility and crushing defeat.

Yet did he not deserve love? There was peace between D'Hara and the Midlands at last. He had saved thousands of lives. Love and family were worthy rewards. But like this? Everything was changed and yet nothing was. It didn't make sense, and it disturbed him.

"You've not checked on the new trainees," Mistress Ellys reminded him one day, face as taut as her long greying braid. "They need your gift for their final training."

Darken didn't answer her. She was right, but he had no need to admit it. In recent months, the dark and the blood and the screams of the Mord'Sith temple had not called to him as frequently. Family and politics, perhaps, took up too much attention. Or maybe they provided their own catharsis. When he thought of the agiel, his mouth dried and his fingers clenched wantingly—but it was the first time in months.

He wondered again, with worry pressing at the back of his mind, where his mask had gone. The darkness he'd hidden for Kahlan refused to make itself known again. Sometimes he'd forget it. Sometimes he'd remember suddenly and twitch, because he couldn't live without it. He might as well be confessed without the dark patterns of his soul.

Wandering thoughts didn't destroy all the peace he'd found in his victory, though. There was a lighter poetry to love that was appealing in its own way, especially as it mingled with sensuality.

As he sat one night facing Kahlan's back, her long hair like a shadow in his hands while he untangled it, then braided it hand over hand, he couldn't deny the contentment it brought him. Soft, lustrously shining even in the dim torchlight, making a soft rustling sound as he twisted it—the mark of her rank it might be, but Darken merely found it attractive.

"There is talk of rebellion," Kahlan said, tipping her head back absently into his hands. "As there has been talk for months, but I don't think it's as bad as it once was. People who are actively planning revolt don't tell the world about it."

"Hmm." Darken could find nothing wrong with that supposition.

"I agree with them, though." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "D'Hara and the Midlands are two different nations, they shouldn't have been forced together. You brought this on yourself..."

He made a low noise, eyes still on the braid he constructed. "I didn't have a decade to play my hand slowly with ambassadors and festivals and treaties. It might not have worked at all, given the general stupidity of people when they're allowed a choice. So I didn't give them one. In the long run, the benefits of my way are clear."

"And the downsides." Kahlan shifted slightly. "But it can't be undone, either with royal proclamations or rebellion. Life is—fixed." Her voice paused and dropped on the last word, but she shook her head as if it was nothing.

"I don't wish it undone. I don't understand your obsession with freedom, when you have seen the damage people's freedom can do. Will do, inevitably, with time." He finished the braid and tied it off, letting it fall over her shoulder.

Time passed for a few heartbeats, silently. Kahlan fingered the end of the braid and finally murmured, "Someday maybe you'll understand." Turning to face him, she suddenly asked, "Do you wish I was a Mord'Sith, Darken?"

He sat up straighter. "What?"

She nodded to the long braid in her hand, eyes solidly on his. "You took me as a queen for reasons I'm not sure I understand, but I know it wasn't because I was your ideal partner. All those years with the Mord'Sith...does it bother you that I'm not like them?"

The question was genuine, and Darken felt oddly unseated by it. Mord'Sith and Kahlan. For the past eight years they'd been the closest to him, but he hadn't compared. The bond between Lord Rahl and Mord'Sith was mutual, yes, but ideal? He'd never considered what would be ideal. Falling for Kahlan had been unexpected, and he still couldn't explain why. He couldn't explain anything—words caught in his throat and he frowned.

Silence spoke enough, so it seemed. "You still desire them..." Kahlan said, expression unchanging though it seemed harder with her hair braided back. Darken couldn't help but wonder now what she'd be like as a Mord'Sith.

"I have not broken your trust," Darken said carefully. Without Cara or Denna, to be sure, he felt much less of a draw to the Mord'Sith as lovers.

"No, but I'm curious." Her brow narrowed, and she chewed the inside of her lip. "They know you in a way that I can't."

Darken snorted a little at that. "You are my wife. I love you. That is something no Mord'Sith has ever known, or ever will. If you're referring to what happens between the sheets...well, I'm sure if you just ask Dahlia will teach you all you want to know." The words came out with more snark than he'd intended, but it seemed like such a simple issue to him. Kahlan was more to him than any Mord'Sith, that was clear.

She looked up at him with a smile that was almost a smirk—the berating but affectionate little smile that she'd only recently started to give at all. "I've seen you in bed with a Mord'Sith before. Not for long, though. Maybe you should bring Dahlia to your bed, so I can compare."

He felt both eyebrows rising, almost against his will.

"No, I'm serious," Kahlan said, before Darken could find words. "Every time I've spoken with a Mord'Sith, they look at me like I'm ignorant."

"You're not," Darken said with a pointed look. "Our children are proof of that."

She gave him a look. "Just let me see. I don't have a good reason, Darken, I just want to know." A grimace crossed her lips for a moment. "All of this is nothing like what I imagined, I think I'm allowed a little curiosity about this strange world you pulled me into."

Darken almost replied that curiosity had little to do with voyeurism, but Kahlan's mood was too solid to sway, he could tell that with a glance. Stubborn as ever, and not telling him everything. The only way to find out would be to give in to her strange request. "Shall you tell Dahlia or shall I, that you want her to enter our marriage bed for a night?"

-

The Mord'Sith, at least, seemed to understand her request. Dahlia nodded, and held her gaze longer than she ever had before. In those eyes, Kahlan needed no special power to discern that Dahlia comprehended everything.

A niggling part of Kahlan felt like an outsider. Darken had sacrificed for their love, and Kahlan valued that, but wanted more. The longer she lived, the more greedy she became. She wanted everything. She wanted to be part of this D'Haran life, a cornerstone and not a decoration.

Maybe, if she tried hard enough, she'd be at home with more than just Darken and their children. D'Hara was a wild place, still largely unfamiliar, but Kahlan lived here and that wouldn't be changing. She wanted to feel at home too, even if that meant making impossible requests.

Even if that meant facing a group of women she disdained.

Dahlia was quiet, at least. No gloating, no snide remarks, only a quiet nod and smile and a "I've missed serving the House of Rahl in such a fashion..."

It made Kahlan shift her weight uncomfortably, but she stuck to her desire. Awkward as this might be, the only way she'd understand her husband's history with the Mord'Sith would be to see them at their most intimate. It would make her heart burn with jealousy, she knew that much already, but the understanding would be worth it. The truth would set her free.

And no one would ever know that she, the Mother Confessor, had suggested this. Except herself and Darken, and they were both more surprised than judging. She slept with _Darken Rahl_ every night; really, what was a little experimentation after such a leap?

When the night arrived, though, Kahlan felt her cheeks rosy with blush. Never in her wildest dreams could she have pictured herself here... Dahlia entered the chamber and closed the door behind her, and Kahlan was grateful for the secrecy. _This is wrong_ she whispered to herself, the weight of everything finally striking her. But then Darken caught her eyes, and his bold curiosity made her feel like a queen again. A queen who could take what she wanted in this life, no matter what it was.

"Any requests, my love?" Her husband's voice was a low purr.

She stood at the curtain, nodded shortly, and found herself saying, "I just want to watch."

Dahlia gave a coy smile then, and Darken answered it with a wicked one and pulled the Mord'Sith to his lap.

Kahlan stood with hands half-clenched at her sides and told herself that this was nothing. She'd known Mord'Sith long enough to recognize them as women, nothing more. Not the enemy. She wasn't giving her husband to the enemy. This was something else.

She told herself to keep watching, because she needed to know what that something else truly was.

Darken Rahl and Dahlia fit together with an unnerving ease. Unlacing, unbuttoning, stripping, all of it happened with a smooth swift grace. It seemed like Kahlan had only to blink, and then it was skin against skin. Masculine body and feminine melding together. Her eyes followed Darken's fingers wherever they strayed, from hair to neck to breasts to hips. Some force seemed to hold the two together, not passion but something more like magnetism. Dahlia straddled Darken's lap and kissed him, not for love but for pleasure and a connection—it niggled at Kahlan's mind that she couldn't place it.

But when Darken reached for Dahlia's agiel, and soft moans of pleasure mingled with the wails of the weapon, Kahlan nearly forgot to breathe. Trails of dark red magic spread across Darken's skin as well as Dahlia's. They moaned, not with pleasure alone, but with a satisfaction that only came from magic. Rahl magic.

It was everything that this relationship was, and with that realization Kahlan could breathe again. Kisses and caresses and the grinding of hips only spelled out more intensely the bond that was deep within the two. Not love, not even affection, but a closeness that nothing but shared loyalty and pain could bring. Somehow, watching as Lord Rahl and Mord'Sith pleasured each other, an entire world became comprehensible to Kahlan.

And her heart raced. Kahlan watched, drinking in the forbidden sight, and felt like Kahlan Rahl at last.

At last, Dahlia worked Darken to his climax. Chest gleaming, heaving with exertion, he lay back with eyes closed. Dahlia rested against him, and the air smelled of sweat and sex. Kahlan was satisfied—and not.

Dahlia was first to remember the voyeuristic aspect. All long limbs and curves, she rose from the bed with a lazy smile. "Lady Rahl, did you enjoy yourself?"

Kahlan opened her mouth before realizing that she didn't have an answer one way or another. She pressed her lips together, flush deepening. There was no ready way to address a situation like this.

Unless you were Dahlia. "You look like you had a fine view, but you could have appreciated it far more." She smiled, eyes dancing, and rested her fingers on Kahlan's shoulder. "One good thing about being a Mord'Sith and a woman...I have marvelous stamina, if you would like to remedy that lack of enjoyment."

Kahlan froze under the Mord'Sith's touch, feeling the urge to squirm away fighting with a new urge to...to... All she knew was that butterflies waltzed in her stomach, and even Dahlia's teasingly innocent touch felt hot. "There's no need, Mistress Dahlia," she said after a swallow. Over Dahlia's shoulder, she saw Darken rise to one elbow, his eyes on them both.

Dahlia didn't respond with words, she just leaned in and kissed Kahlan fully on the lips.

A noise escaped Kahlan's throat and her eyes suddenly shut. Shock. Lust. The former didn't overcome the latter like she'd expected, as she felt her lips part a fraction of an inch. The Mord'Sith had lips like rose petals—and Kahlan wanted so badly to be kissed right now. But by Dahlia? Swiftly bringing her hand to the Mord'Sith's bare chest, ignoring how wonderfully smooth it was, she caught her breath and murmured. "I can wait for my husband, Mistress Dahlia."

Dahlia smiled, wrapping an arm around Kahlan's waist like they were old lovers. "Yes, I know, but he's right here. I can give you pleasure now, and I assure you the sight will arouse him again. Then you two can be together as usual...since I assume the goal of this tryst was reached?"

Kahlan glanced to Darken—who did not seem inclined to protest—and then back to Dahlia, whose blue eyes were warm and almost soft. "I don't desire you, Dahlia," she managed.

The Mord'Sith laughed. "Well, I won't tell my queen that she's lying, but..." She reached up, daringly, and ran her thumb over Kahlan's lip.

Kahlan shivered, and leaned closer to the warm naked woman standing at her side. "This is..." She couldn't finish the sentence for the life of her, confused and unsure how she'd gotten here.

Dahlia kissed her again, and for all her confusion Kahlan kissed back.

Hours later, when Dahlia left Darken and Kahlan on their own at last, the moon had risen to its full height outside the window. The sheets had never been so rumpled, but neither husband nor wife stopped to care.

Kahlan lay against Darken's chest, looking at the ceiling, sure that any moment she'd blink awake and realize that it was a dream. What she'd just done...what she'd just _enjoyed_... Her body felt utterly sated, and she had never felt more at peace with her marriage. It was the truth, but it still made her ask of herself _how_.

Darken's fingers stroked through her sweat-damp hair, then, and the motion reminded her of everything they'd shared. From the beginning until now. All the horror, all the pain, all the hatred. All the comfort, all the passion, all the love.

She wasn't the same woman she'd been then, when the boxes of Orden had disappeared.

"I love you," Darken Rahl murmured to the air about them.

"I love you too," she whispered back without thinking, and rested her cheek more solidly against his chest, so his heartbeat filled her hearing.

Once, Kahlan had been a girl, who thought she knew the only way life could turn out well. And now she was a woman, and life had proven unexpected. Strange and imperfect in so many ways, but richer than her wildest dreams. She was different, but in her own way. Kahlan was Kahlan, and so life could go on being unexpected.


	14. Chapter 14

It took nearly nine years, but Kahlan finally realized that planning for the future was pointless. No longer would she reassess her goals. No longer would she even _think_ of it. The present provided so much more than she expected, more than enough to keep her focus.

Future events would happen when they happened.

Now, queen and wife and mother, Kahlan gave her attention to making her current life better.

The Mord'Sith she was looking for evaded her discovery until, for the first time, she descended to the lower levels of the Palace. D'Haran to its core, once she might have been horrified. She understood better these days. "Dahlia," she called, stopping the first mistress before she descended to the dungeon.

"Queen Kahlan," Dahlia acknowledged, turning around and raising one eyebrow in a slight curve.

Kahlan ignored the tiny panicked voice in her head that chanted _Denna Denna Denna_ , and loosely clasped her hands at her waist. "Will you talk with me?"

"Talk?" Dahlia frowned.

Kahlan chewed the inside of her lip, wondering what she was getting herself into. "A conversation? I have some questions."

For a moment they stood, silence reigning. Then Dahlia laughed—a small, almost delicate laugh, nothing Mord'Sith about it. "You're not afraid or ordering me or offering insult. This is new."

It was Kahlan's turn to frown, confused.

"I don't mind," Dahlia said with an amused smile on her lips. "You treat me as if I was a sister of the agiel. I was not expecting it, that is all." Kahlan had never seen a Mord'Sith relax before, but she imagined that what Dahlia did just then approximated the concept. "You may ask your questions, Kahlan Rahl."

Stone walls and flickering torchlight surrounded them, but Kahlan felt comfortable as she sat on a bench facing Dahlia, just her and the Mord'Sith. They lived under one roof, in one home, and right now they wore the same deep red color. The more she accepted it, the more everything fell into place.

Dahlia eyed her with calm curiosity as she waited.

"You're devoted to Lord Rahl, and not through training alone," Kahlan finally said, gesturing lightly with one hand. It wasn't a question. "So tell me, for his sake...is he happy? Or is this all still a ploy?"

Confusion bloomed in Dahlia's eyes, and immediately it sent a wave of relief through Kahlan, even though Dahlia didn't speak for several moments. This woman could be as guarded as any Mord'Sith, but Kahlan didn't doubt her capacity for honesty. With each passing day, month, year, Dahlia became a woman Kahlan could count on.

"Lord Rahl is never truly happy," Dahlia finally said. "In some ways he does not allow himself happiness, and in others he merely demands too much."

Kahlan nodded, hands in her lap, just listening. She wanted more than brevity.

Dahlia let out a breath, expression darkening a little. "And he does not let go of the past easily. There is unfinished business between him and Denna. More so between him and Cara, even though there is no hope—" The Mord'Sith stopped short, as if realizing that she was saying more than necessary.

Kahlan leaned forward, though. "Cara?" The rest made sense, but this name she didn't know. A woman's name that Darken had not mentioned to her—she couldn't help a twinge of jealousy.

"First Mistress after Denna's betrayal—and always Rahl's favorite." Dahlia's slight smile was touched with pain. "And mine, as well. When she disappeared along with Orden and the Seeker, no one admitted it, but it was an irreplaceable loss. For Lord Rahl as well as—as the Mord'Sith." Dahlia's eyes dropped a fraction, her right hand flitting to the agiel sheathed at her side as if for comfort.

"You were close to her," Kahlan murmured, putting the pieces together. Almost, she reached for Dahlia's other hand, wondering what kind of woman could capture the attention of both sister and Lord. Almost—but for all the honesty, this was not a truly intimate moment.

"Were it not for Lord Rahl, she would have been my mate," Dahlia said unexpectedly, though her eyes didn't meet Kahlan's. "And Lord Rahl may not admit it, but he misses her. He loves you, that much he is not lying about, but I know he has never seen what happened on West Granthia as an entire victory."

The women sat in silence for a moment, then Kahlan nodded and sat up straighter. This information might have been something Darken would have admitted to her if she'd asked, but sometimes she never knew how to ask.

"Are you satisfied?" Dahlia asked after a few moments.

Kahlan gave her a small smile. "Yes, completely. Thank you."

Amusement crossed Dahlia's face at the thanks, but she nodded back before rising to take her leave.

Little by little, year after year, Kahlan was figuring out the story she'd been wed into. Life had written her in long after everything had been established—but she would be around until the end.

-

If there was one thing Darken never doubted, it was his love for his children. That didn't mean, he told the exasperated nursemaid, that he wanted to be their primary caretaker. But since Kahlan was abed with a light fever, and Nicholas was too young to understand that it was past his bedtime, somehow Darken ended up with a drooling screaming bundle of baby in his arms.

Life was sometimes more pleasant in dreams than in reality.

To his relief, Nicholas was easily soothed. As long as Darken rocked him, and kept speaking, the boy would lie still in his arms and just stare. Tasking it might be, but there was a sort of satisfaction. He had power—no, influence—over the people he most wanted in his life.

He took Nicholas to his office, though, and read aloud troop reports instead of speaking in words his son could understand. The baby didn't care, and kept what one day would be a raptor's gaze on his father.

Work and family in one moment. Darken felt proud of the life he had now. Proud and grateful, and for the first time in many years indifferent to whether he'd changed or not.

It didn't matter if he was a "better" person now. He was more pleased, and that made the difference.

So when Dahlia came to ask if he needed anything, he ignored the slight smirk on her face at seeing Lord Rahl cuddling a baby. It was none of her business, and whatever went on in her head was none of his.

"Do you realize, son, that some of these reports are your doing?" Darken found himself frowning, switching to commentary instead of mere recitation. "Your very birth threatened the peace in my realm. Such a troublemaker for one so small."

Nicholas blinked, and sucked his thumb.

"It begs the question of whether children can be considered innocent," Darken mused. "I decided they could, when it came to you. Whether that was a mistake or not...we shall see. In general I prefer to air on the side of logic rather than sentiment, despite your mother's continued..." He trailed off with a little noise, half frustration and half resignation. "You may yet bring ruin to us all, Nicholas Rahl."

One tiny hand wrapped around Darken's button and tugged, as Nicholas made a burbling noise.

Darken sighed, giving Nicholas a small paperweight to grasp, to spare his robes. Children could be such an inconvenience. "Be glad you have a face that inspires love and protection, son. And hope that your father keeps the country intact despite your presence."

Yet another rebellion in yet another province. One more, and he would suggest a formal proclamation to Kahlan. And if that didn't work... Darken honestly didn't know what he'd do next. Playing the benevolent leader had been effective to an extent, but what happened when failure came?

Failure always came, as sunset always followed bright afternoons, but this time Darken was taking a different path to it. He didn't know what lay beyond diplomacy and humanity, when the masses resorted to ignorance and selfishness again.

"At least if I fail, you won't hate me," Darken murmured under his breath in Nicholas' direction, signing yet another order for gentle benevolent leadership, "will you."

His son just made a half grin and waved a hand.

-

What had been a day's light illness in Kahlan twisted around Darken like gnarled hands and refused to let go. She was scarce recovered, but enough to notice the glint of his overheated skin while the entire rest of the Palace shivered in gloves and woolen garments. Without a second thought she demanded that he stay in bed.

It had been a hard battle, as she knew it would be before starting. Darken didn't like being told what to do, and he took advice poorly. Annoyance turned to fury when she refused to give up the point and grabbed his bicep to keep him from leaving the chamber. His rage, almost blind, would have hurt or terrified her had she not felt the weakness in his muscle. But need for control, and hatred of surrendering it to another, only made him half a fool this time. Kahlan refused to let go. Darken paused to catch a breath in between irate curses, and instead of continuing he sunk to the bed. His head hit the pillow, and did not rise for a night and a day.

The world stopped its turning without a Lord Rahl, and it might as well have been an assassination attempt. Dahlia all but twisted Kahlan's arm to speak to the people—harsh, firm, confident. It was everything D'Hara and the Midlands needed to see, and everything Kahlan could not manage at this time. She did her best, though.

Kahlan returned, mask dropped, to her husband's bedside as he slept. He woke to ask hoarsely for water, but barely drank a glass before falling back into slumber. Night passed hour by hour, and Kahlan watched fever conquer Darken's face with grey-pale skin, sweat and unnatural flush. His body was limp with exhaustion, skin hot as fire even though ice crystals dotted the windows of the chamber.

After a few hours the heat reached its zenith and he started to thrash, eyes wild behind closed lids. Kahlan knew that she loved Darken Rahl—she'd known for months, had accepted the odd truth willingly—but to see him vulnerable struck home just what love meant. Even after all the pain and darkness he'd caused, she no longer could bear to see him suffer. When his hand struck out randomly in some hallucination, Kahlan clasped it in her own and held it in her lap.

"Kahlan," he whispered, voice like a desert wind, hot and dry.

"I'm here," she murmured in answer, squeezing his hand gently.

"You—and Mistress Dahlia—keep my kingdom safe."

Kahlan sighed, but only a little. "You're not the only one who cares for the realm. We have everything in hand. Do not underestimate me, husband."

A grimace crossed his pale face, as if he was sick with more than fever. "Husband. It's but a mockery. I demanded a mockery from you, and you gave it to me."

Not understanding, Kahlan rested her other hand over his. "Darken?"

Eyelids heavy, eyes bleary, he seemed only half aware of her, voice rambling and thick with dark emotion. "I wanted you by any means. I gave you a choice but you weren't wrong to hate me. I should never..." His voice left a bitter trail as it faded to silence.

Kahlan leaned in closer, brow furrowing. "Darken, are you apologizing for coercing me to marry you?" She loved Darken, but hadn't believed him capable of regret...not yet.

He opened his eyes, unveiling the feverish swirl in them, and met her own. Such longing and self-hatred tangled in that look that the whispered words were unnecessary. "I want to regret it."

Kahlan sat, unspeaking, for many long moments. Fever gripped him and loosened his tongue, but it could not make him lie. She'd bound her heart knowingly to a dark and twisted one, but she'd always believed in redemption. Hope had always been there, faint and long-term though it might be. Here was a hint of it in front of her, though, and she didn't know what to do.

At last, eyes wet with worried and overwhelmed tears, she murmured her response to the fevered man who still held her gaze. "Our marriage was wrong at the start, but I've forgiven that. Nothing is the same now."

He shook his head. "You're mad. You've been here too long."

"I'm no more mad than you," Kahlan responded, lips pressing together. "You couldn't have broken me, Darken Rahl, not if you had a dozen lifetimes. We changed together, but I never lost my mind."

Darken stared at her, and if he understood he didn't say. Kahlan couldn't mind, since even she wasn't sure she had a full understanding. When his eyes drifted shut again, though, she rested her hand over his heart. His own reached up, even from fevered sleep, and tangled with hers.

-

Darken didn't know how long his body was wracked in sickness, and he had only fleeting awareness of concerned voices around his bedside. Weakness had caught him off guard, but there was no help now.

When the fever broke eventually, he felt his body start to heal. A cool, dreamless sleep once more wrapped him securely at night, and he woke as if he'd never been ill.

Except for the strange heat at his side. He frowned and opened his eyes, but it was only Arianna in a flannel nightgown, curled at his side in slumber. How slim was the strand of his life, if security around him was so lax. Sighing frustratedly, he lay back against the pillow.

Arianna was instantly awake. "Father?"

"Why are you not in the nursery?" Darken griped.

"Mother said that I had to wait for you to be well before I could ask my question," the seven-year-old explained without even trying to look ashamed, "but no one knew when that would be so I saved time and just waited here." She smiled, a triumphant gleeful smile, and gave his arm a squeeze.

Her eyes were his and Kahlan's all at once, and Darken found himself asking, "What question?"

Arianna took a deep breath. "I want an agiel."

Spine stiffening, Darken answered with the harshness of protectiveness, "Absolutely not. If Mistress Garen even lets you near one, I will gut her with a dull spoon."

"Well I already touched hers, but it wasn't Garen's fault." His daughter frowned, lower lip curling in dark protest. "I did it when she wasn't looking and I _did_ cry but she slapped me anyway."

Having Garen train his daughter in how a proper Rahl should behave, Darken now realized, was overestimating the Mord'Sith's ability to handle children who were _not_ to be broken. Fury and fear mingled in his gut, and his fingers twitched to hurt Garen for daring to touch his daughter.

"You can't kill her, Father!" Arianna suddenly protested, catching the coal-dark anger in his eyes. "It wasn't a hard slap, and I ordered her not to go easy on me. I'm a Rahl, I'll beat that stupid Mord'Sith eventually."

Darken's head was starting to throb. A growl gathered in his throat. "Neither of you has enough wits, clearly."

"Can't I have an agiel, though? Garen had one when she was my age..."

"Arianna," Darken said in a warning tone, rubbing at his now-aching brow. "You're not a Mord'Sith. You never will be." The very thought made his stomach flip; he'd kill every one of his subjects before he'd let a child of his be harmed.

Arianna didn't seem to appreciate the concern. Annoyed, she huffed and crossed her arms. "Then can I have my own room?"

"Talk with your mother," Darken answered shortly, closing his eyes and wondering when his beautiful helpless children had found such irritating wills of their own.

"And a pony?"

He gave only a warning grunt and pointed to the door.

Kahlan came in an hour later, and leaned in to kiss his brow. "I'm sorry you had to wake to that. She sneaked in while Dahlia was speaking to me."

"It's of no matter," Darken murmured in answer, and found that he meant it. Waking to family was always several grades above any other option. "I only hope my realm has not gone to ruin as much as my heir's discipline."

Kahlan laughed, and ran slender fingers through his hair. "No, Ari is the most urgent trouble." He met her eyes, headache starting to retreat. A bare smile crossed her lips, and she murmured, "But I'm glad you're well again."

It was the first time someone had said it sincerely, and Darken forgot to hate himself for the weakness of disease. "So am I," he murmured back. "Now about Arianna..."

-

They finally lost the coin toss. All the good fortune blessed both family and marriage, and left the realm destitute.

Kahlan held Darken's hand as they looked to the horizon, where the first fires of civil war were burning.

Her heart ached. Guilt and dread swirled together, the taste sour in her throat. "What do we do?" she whispered.

Darken had no words for her. Nothing but a firmer grip of her hand.

The Council of the Midlands gave them their answer. Fight for unity. Not all realms had suffered from the merging with D'Hara, and the gold of trade spoke louder than national pride. It even, Kahlan discovered, spoke louder than the resentment of the conquered. They demanded that troops be sent to "deal" with the rebels. Kahlan wondered if she was the only one who noted that no one had agreed on what would happen to the rebels once defeated and captured. If they were...if the whole world didn't collapse...

"Why can't we play by the flowers?" Irene asked, holding Nicholas around his chest so his arms and legs dangled. "Nicky _wants_ to." She pouted, while Nicholas drooled in Kahlan's direction.

"Don't pout," Kahlan said, giving her daughter a firm look. "It's not safe anymore."

"But why?"

"You're the daughter of Lord Rahl...the bad men might want to hurt you, to make your father do what they want." Kahlan hadn't yet informed her children of anti-confessor feelings. Some truths were too weary for young minds to handle.

"Can Mistress Garen come and keep us safe?" Irene's hold on her little brother slipped, but she hefted him back up before his slippered feet touched the floor.

Kahlan's lips tightened. "She is not a babysitter..."

"But Ari said--"

"Mistress Garen is teaching Arianna, not playing nursemaid," Kahlan snapped, for it was still a sore subject. Darken had reconsidered letting Arianna have leadership lessons, but their daughter had thrown a tantrum and sulked so dramatically that he'd given in. Kahlan had glared at her husband for that, but his answering look withered her protest. It meant more to him that Arianna was happy. She was still young enough that childish behavior was allowed...for a little while longer, at least.

Irene didn't protest anymore, and instead dragged Nicholas to the toybox so they could play castle.

Running fingers through her hair, Kahlan considered the fact that maybe this would all end in ruin. The lands at war again were a sign...but of what, Kahlan couldn't tell. Apocalypse, anarchy, or merely the change of seasons—war was too common. More common than peace by far.

The thought stirred her blood, and she rose from her chair. Duties done for the afternoon, she discarded her royal gown for a more practical one. Tight sleeves, slit skirts, and a bodice that was thick and sturdy, all were better suited to the training grounds rather than the Mother Confessor's hall.

Sunlight glinted off helmets and spears, making the late-afternoon shadows dappled and warm. Kahlan approached the fields, nodding to the last of the soldiers exiting the fenced-off area. No one spoke a word as she retrieved two silver daggers, no one watched as she put herself into the familiar position.

The forms that she hadn't practiced in years came back with only a hitch of memory. Left foot forward, strike, parry, flip. Right foot curve to the left, flip, parry strike. More and more, until the sandy ground showed squares and rectangles where her feet marked the patterns. The cool silver warmed to her palms, and her muscles warmed with old memory. This was a part of her. Every cut to the air, every whistling parry, made her heart sing even in practice only. Faster and faster until she was doing it with her eyes closed, tongue between her lips in blissful concentration.

Another turn of her feet, and suddenly the flat of her right-hand blade met another. Her eyes snapped open. Darken, his own sword in hand, blocked her hand from completing the strike.

His eyes had a frustration in them that she well understood.

Steeling her jaw for combat, Kahlan slipped her hand from Darken's block and spun into him, left hand aimed for his neck.

He blocked simply, despite the length of his sword.

Kahlan attacked again and again, prepared to hold back at the last second but never needing to. Then somehow her attacks were defenses and she was retreating. Eyes glittering, locked on his, she whirled and spun her way back to the top.

The fight ended in a too-perfect draw, when they'd spent all their energy. Kahlan felt the flat of the sword against her neck with every breath, the tip of her dagger lodged beneath his chin.

"If only our people could be so precise," Darken murmured, half out of breath.

She made a noise of agreement, sheathing her daggers when he did the same with his sword. But she knew better. They weren't at war, and hadn't been in too long. They'd found peace, and now their people took up the abandoned cause with more hatred than they'd ever possessed.

Darken kissed her anyways, on the mock field of battle, and it was warm and lush.

"The rebels are heading towards Agaden Reach," he said then.

Kahlan nodded. "If that's the extent of their long-term plan, it's good news."

"I wouldn't expect more," Darken responded, a disdainful snort leaving his mouth as he walked off the training grounds.

"You should," Kahlan warned while following at his side. "They may not have your wits—" and even though she knew that he had them, she made the word sarcastic "—but they don't underestimate you. I don't doubt that they're more aware of what they're getting into than you. Underestimating your people has caused more than one defeat of yours."

He grunted, brow darkening. "And overestimating them caused more bloodshed for your side in the first war."

"We'll agree to disagree on that," Kahlan said with some chill, refusing to get into this argument again.

"My generals know what they're doing," Darken finally said.

Kahlan sighed. "I know." She forced herself to smile a little before leaving.

It wasn't the first argument they'd nearly had. Nor would it be the last. She preferred to remember the kiss.

If only D'Hara and the Midlands would do likewise.


	15. Chapter 15

Midnight had turned the sky the color of onyx when Darken Rahl said farewell to the People's Palace. Too many reports of hesitant generals, too much news of men who did not know how to fight a civil war. If they cannot have knowledge then they will have orders they cannot misunderstand, he had told Kahlan.

She'd given him a look. He'd replied with naught but a grim smile. It was reassurance enough. There was no bloodlust in his eyes, only determination. He would seek, as always, the most efficient end to this conflict. And that was rarely a bloody one anymore.

Kahlan, wrapped in sable fur, had watched at the gate when he rode away. Night shrouded the departure, for safety and strategy's sake. "Be safe," she'd said, fingers resting on his knee once he'd mounted.

There was still a hint of fascination in his eyes when she said such words, but not as much as once there'd been. "I've no intention of giving my life for D'Hara."

She'd smiled tightly. "Good."

With that, he was gone into the night. Their children slept soundly in the nursery. Kahlan stood not quite alone as the hoofbeats thundered away, her bodyguard two steps behind and to the right. She was grateful not to be alone.

A breath escaped her, a puff of white in the chill air. She'd be sleeping alone for the first time in nearly ten years, and the thought was nothing but bitter. More than sleeping, though. He'd been gone only a few seconds and already Kahlan felt more vulnerable.

She turned to the woman silently standing by her. "Your sisters of the agiel, how do they look upon this civil war? Are any like Triana or Denna, do you think?"

Dahlia cocked her eyebrow, but she answered. "We are all loyal to Lord Rahl. We have seen good fruit come from this merger, even if the rabble do not." A hint of a smile touched her lips, barely visible in the starlight. "Some of us are even loyal to Lady Rahl for her own sake."

Kahlan couldn't help half a dry laugh at that. Dahlia was the bodyguard Darken had chosen with good reason, being the only Mord'Sith who had ever appreciated Kahlan. The woman had a quiet dignity, for all her dark ways. "Then I'm sure I will be safe to rule here until he returns, with all the Mord'Sith as protection." She took a step towards Dahlia, closing the distance between them. It felt wrong to stand far away.

"I will be at your side always, and Garen is always keeping watch over the young heirs," Dahlia said, with a smirk. "There is no need for further protection than that."

Kahlan just shook her head. "We shall see..." Though Garen and Kahlan did not have the most placid of acquaintances, she could not deny that the fierce Mord'Sith was a formidable guard for her children. "Though part of me wishes, Dahlia, that you instead of Ellys had gone to guard Lord Rahl."

Another smile passed briefly over Dahlia's lips. "I'm satisfied with things as they are."

Sighing, Kahlan let her hand find Dahlia's arm as she turned to the Palace, to an empty bed and the duties of a Rahl queen. "We should both rest."

The Mord'Sith did not answer, quizzical eyes on Kahlan's hand as they started to walk towards the Palace.

Kahlan was too tired to be made awkward by such looks.

-

Ellys slept in the same double bed as him, in the general's quarters. Even after the lights were out, hiding lined features and grey-flecked hair, she was no substitute for Kahlan. It was a sentimental thought, but Darken failed to hold it back as he drifted to sleep with cool distance between him and his trusted Mord'Sith.

He hadn't expected to be away so long. Four weeks, and things seemed just as complicated in the field as ever. Darken had to grudgingly accept, at least in his own mind, that his generals were not to blame for the chaos.

"This is not about Kahlan," Ellys had offered boldly, a few days after they'd arrived on the front lines of civil war.

"History suggests otherwise." Darken had let his eyes take in the evidence of war, fingers twitching for resolution. After all he'd done for his people, they still complained? They still fought —were they naught but children?

His Mord'Sith had said nothing more of her opinion.

But Darken did not forget it.

Egremont yielded willingly to Darken's leadership, and no more than a day passed before he forgot peace. War was an old friend, hated though it might be.

The rebellion this time had more structure. Some D'Haran soldiers had deserted to join them, and it showed. Straight-on attacks, rather than night raids and guerilla warfare, were the rule. Cautious and bold all at once. Darken soon realized that he was fighting against his own tactics, incorporated into military training over a decade ago, not merely his own people. Each corpse on either side was, in a way, his.

Civil war was an ugly thing.

"Some of them are Midlanders, my lord," Egremont informed him after yet another short battle left a military town ravaged, a garrison stolen. "I don't understand."

National pride brings people together, Darken thought, but knew without needing to say it that it wasn't universal. "Years of alliance, Egremont. However reluctantly at first, the lands have begun to blend." He touched one of the dead bodies, a frown on his face. "Or perhaps there's more to this than we realize."

"They have not made any demands," Egremont pointed out. "How can we know anything?"

Darken said nothing, looking out once more across the village. It was not the first time he'd wondered about the lack of demagoguery.

The next village to be attacked was close to the border, and when Darken and his troops rode in, he could see a mixture of faces among the crowds of survivors. Some looked to him with fear. Others with despair, others with hope.

"They seek answers," Mistress Ellys said as they looked over maps and reports together, trying to track the path of the rebellion backwards to its source.

"And I have none," Darken said. "None that they cannot guess for themselves, and I have no wish to put stock into guesses."

The Mord'Sith raised an eyebrow. "A guess from you would calm them, true or not."

"Until proved false." Darken's half smile was hard, tight. "And I have no resources to ensure that it is not proved false. Nor a wish to gamble. Let them have silence and guesses. Honesty cannot make things worse at this point."

Unlike her younger sisters of the agiel, Ellys did not snort in protest. As if it were nothing, she shrugged off her concerns and returned to work. Darken valued it, but couldn't deny that he craved Cara's boldness. Or Kahlan's. The moments of intellectual battle between them had provided new ideas as well as conflict. In a way, he desired both.

But he had neither. Nor did he have relaxation, which might calm his mind and distract it from the notions he was stuck on. He missed his children for that, and time spent alone with Kahlan—time without conversation, but merely touch. Passion left clarity in its wake, he'd discovered, and right now he would relish the inimitable experience of lying sated and breathless. But Kahlan was not here, and he had grown too used to her company to seek release elsewhere.

He was on his own, as he always had been before. Perhaps that was the reason it took nearly a month to find answers.

"We found one alive," Captain Meiffert said excitedly, as they dragged a young man into his tent.

Barely more than a boy, the rebel had sharply D'Haran features, yet somehow he looked up at Darken with pure heated defiance.

Darken had the urge to break him, drown out that fire completely. The urge for answers, though, overruled the desire for control. "Make him speak," he said with a nod to Ellys.

"I'll never betray my comrades!" the boy spat.

Darken couldn't help a brief smile to himself. The boy thought he was after that...oh no, not today. He had a much simpler purpose in mind.

Ellys didn't need explicit instructions. A few hours under the agiel and the boy began spouting threats and promises as if he was fevered.

"You can't break our back, no matter how many troops you send," the rebel raved through hoarse breaths and screams. "We'll never bend the knee. We've suffered too long."

It was what Darken was looking for—motive—but it seemed old fashioned. Surely this had been stamped out years ago. Cries of tyranny had long given way to reluctant acceptance of Darken at least, especially in D'Hara. Frowning, thumb rubbing over his lower lip, Darken wondered _why_ , and why now.

"Don't think you'll win, even if you kill me!" The boy writhed under Ellys' agiel, but still threw all the defiance he had towards Lord Rahl and his Mord'Sith. "The Seeker will kill you yet!"

Darken Rahl flinched, puzzle pieces coming roughly together in his mind. His hands clenched. They'd made no demands for a good reason after all, and one that made his spine crawl with sudden dread. "He speaks treason," he said with forced composure, turning dark eyes onto Ellys. "Kill him."

Unprepared, Darken walked off to find solitude. Oh how foolish it was to assume that there were no surprises left in the world...

-

D'Hara, Kahlan reflected, wasn't much different from the Midlands after all. Different customs, different government, but they had hearts and minds she could connect with. Darken had trusted them to her care, as much as he ever trusted anyone. With him still on the battlefield, Kahlan had even started to hold court in his chambers.

Not, however, on his throne. Her own, brought from Aydindril, was much preferred. Its cool stone seat, fitting to her form as ever, made D'Hara feel just a little more like home. A home whose peace, however foully purchased, she would give her life to protect.

Yet when she pronounced judgment, and the last petitioner left the hall, she sighed. "I'm still an outsider."

Dahlia, ever at her back, said to that, "They have never respected you more than now."

"That hardly improves the situation." Kahlan rose from her chair and straightened her spine, shoulders rolling back.

Dahlia made a nonchalant noise. "D'Harans are always complaining. It is when they are quiet that you know that they fear or hate you."

"Hmm." Kahlan was not so certain, but worrying would do little. "I'd like to sit by the fountain now, unless you think it too dangerous?" She raised an eyebrow to her diligent bodyguard.

Dahlia smirked just a little. "I have Mord'Sith at every entrance to the royal haunts in the Palace. It is perfectly safe in the garden, though I will at least accompany you."

Mood lightened already, Kahlan gave her a fleeting smile. "I'll enjoy the company."

Over the past five weeks Kahlan had, in fact, made use of Dahlia's company more than her own children's. The Mord'Sith was full of infectious calm, and her soft strength reminded Kahlan of a young Confessor she'd once been partnered with. And for her own sake, Dahlia didn't seem to hold any disdain towards Kahlan anymore. They both felt Darken's absence in their own way, and the absence of a loved one that was his fault. Kahlan couldn't help but feel comfortable with her. Sister of the agiel, Dahlia had once said as a joke. Kahlan would not be offended if she made the joke again.

Hair loose and glistening in the sun, Kahlan felt young again. Not girlish—the marks of war and pregnancy and marriage were too obvious—but a Confessor without a responsibility greater than her own power. The fountain danced, tossing diamonds all around, and Kahlan smiled.

Dahlia, to her credit as a Mord'Sith, did not. But she sat and rested hands in her lap, perhaps less vigilant here than elsewhere.

"Do you ever come here, when you're not guarding me?" Sun-warmed and removed from public eye, Kahlan's curiosity was unleashed without any conscious effort.

The other woman raised an eyebrow, as usual. "When I'm not guarding you, Kahlan, I'm either bathing or sleeping. Occasionally eating."

Kahlan laughed dryly, but when Dahlia didn't smirk in reply she said, "You're quite serious about that?"

"What do you suppose my duty is, after all?" When Kahlan opened her mouth to protest, Dahlia finally proffered a bare smile. "It's no trial. It's my honor to protect such a worthy woman."

Kahlan didn't know what to say to that. A twisted half smile, and she glanced down to the fountain's pool, letting her fingers trail through the cool water. "I'm glad I'm no bother to you. I didn't realize how much I missed a woman's company, before." She could feel the rush of blood to her cheeks at the honesty, the words that many Mord'Sith would have tossed back in her face with added mockery. A proud queen she might be, but a part of her felt awkward, craving something that she couldn't name from all these D'Harans.

"No need to hide your face. Do you not think Mord'Sith understand such things?"

Kahlan looked up, catching Dahlia's eyes with a curious glance. "You serve Lord Rahl...you know I love Darken too, but he's not my everything. No partner could be."

Dahlia gave that secretive smile she so often gave, leaning in so her long braid fell forward over one shoulder and down to her waist. "We serve Lord Rahl, but that is not the most important bond a Mord'Sith knows. Our very training starts with bringing us into the sisterhood. From the very beginning, we're taught just how tight the bonds of sisters must be, if they are to overcome weakness. Women share things that no man, not even Lord Rahl, can understand. Especially among Mord'Sith."

"But you aren't allowed emotions," Kahlan said, confused. "I thought..."

"People think too much about the Mord'Sith." Dahlia's lips were tight for a moment, her eyes like glass. "And fail to see the simplicity before them. There is no love so deep as that between a Mord'Sith and her true sisters of the agiel, and between them and a true Lord Rahl. It is the only love worth knowing. It is the only love that can be trusted." A yellow striped butterfly made to land on her shoulder, and Dahlia grimaced and flicked it away. "That is the most important part of training."

Still confused, Kahlan licked over her dry lips and tried to find words. The unspoken barrier between her and the Mord'Sith—not rank or background, but rather the opposing magics dwelling beneath their skin—pushed at her as she moved closer to Dahlia. More than curiosity, she could catch a taste of truth in the other woman's words. Truth which she'd denied far too long. "Training..." She met Dahlia's gaze without hesitation. "Tell me, Dahlia. You're not a madwoman; help me understand. What are the Mord'Sith, if they are not the emotionless monsters that reputation proclaims them as?"

The other woman didn't flinch or hesitate, making Kahlan second-guess the wisdom of her question. Dahlia had been blunt with her before, almost painfully so.

But there was no turning back, for either of them. Dahlia spoke like a woman who'd never learned anything but bluntness. The fountain danced behind them as, with quiet steady words, the Mord'Sith started relaying everything. From capture as young girls, to deprivation and rats, to pain and misery and despair. From the shattering of old hopes and the forging of new ones; from the ache of pain to release of pleasure. From child to woman, Dahlia told Kahlan of the Mord'Sith.

"I'm proud of what I have done," Dahlia said nearing the end, light coming to her blue eyes. "I've brought pain and death to innocents, even children, but I will not beg forgiveness. Everything I have done has been for a purpose that I believed to be just—how many "good" women can say likewise?"

Kahlan sucked in a breath at the challenge, and glanced down to realize that her fingers were clenching her skirt. It stayed wrinkled even when she loosened her grip. Like words that, once spoken, could not be drawn back. Like ideas that couldn't be unthought. "It's why he trusts you," she murmured. "You're of the same cloth."

"You speak without thinking," Dahlia chided without heat. "Kahlan, look at me."

Without pause, Kahlan found herself doing so.

"Lord Rahl made himself in our image, not the other way around." A haunted but amused smile twisted her lips. "He tries to achieve what we have, but it is not what he was made for."

Shaking her head, Kahlan acknowledged the truth of that. "You speak to me as he never would."

Dahlia shrugged. "Lord Rahl doesn't understand you the way I do. He does not grasp your full character. Not yet."

"Neither do you," Kahlan added, defensively. Her footing was slipping, and she wasn't ready for it—she straightened her back, remembered that sympathy and not approval was all she could ever give to Darken or Dahlia.

To her surprise, the Mord'Sith laughed. "I don't need to know all of you, Kahlan Rahl. I'm not married to you."

Despite the surprise of such words, Kahlan was almost about to grudgingly laugh along when her eyes caught a figure behind Dahlia. One she would recognize even in pitch black.

Her easy expression froze on seeing the darkness in her approaching husband's.

Dahlia turned quickly, murmuring with surprise, "Lord Rahl, you were not expected yet..."

"Clearly." The marked tension in his frame bled into his words, and Darken dismissed her with a wave of his hand, then walked to the fountain. His eyes, like blue fire now, stayed firmly locked on Kahlan.

Heart rushing with the simplicity of love and longing, she didn't know what to say to the grimness in his face. "Darken..."

Once Dahlia was gone, he was suddenly in her space, hand clenching around her upper arm. "No words here. I will have privacy with you."

Kahlan sucked in a quick breath. "You're hurting my arm."

His fingers tightened momentarily before letting her go, eyes no longer meeting hers. "Walk with me on your own, then."

"I don't understand." Kahlan, still surprised at his very arrival, refused to move while caught in the confusion of his mood. "Are you truly looking at me like I'm the enemy? What has happened to you?"

The words hung in the fresh garden air, heated and foggy. In a few confusing seconds, a quiet conversation had turned into a bristling standoff, making the cheery sunlight feel brash and aggressive. Darken had arrived emanating frustration, and all Kahlan's emotions were upside down.

He looked at her as if upon an idiot for the briefest of seconds before remembering who she was. Where he was. "I have no mind for pleasantries, Kahlan, not after what I left behind. Yes, I am returned, but there will be no happy reunion until I have answers."

Starting to frown, Kahlan finally gave a short nod. "That is understandable."

Children, government, Dahlia—all were forgotten. His mood infected her, and the rest of the world disappeared as he turned on her, asking without warning, "Did you at any time plot to break your oath and lead the lands to rebel against me?"

"Of course not." Kahlan nearly snapped the words. "I have honor."

"Do you believe that the Seeker still lives?"

Kahlan's mouth opened but no word escaped. As startled as he was unrelenting, she met her husband's gaze and couldn't answer. The gravity of his anger was nothing compared to the gravity of the thought that assailed her now. Was her answer 'yes' or 'no'?

-

Destiny...prophecy...there were no two words that Darken hated more. Panis had flung them in his face with bitter disdain for Darken's very existence. Panis had been a fool, and shortly a dead fool, but his legacy had lived on.

Richard had to kill him. It was prophecy. And Darken should have known he couldn't avert it.

"There was no body, no remains," Kahlan had murmured, hours later as the fire in their chamber died down and they finally turned to words.

The children had smothered him in love and kisses, but now they were in bed and it was just him and Kahlan. As always. Even with a thousand shades behind every corner, it still came down to Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor. "Don't you think I know that?" He didn't want her explanations. He'd known her words wouldn't make him happy since the first question he'd thrown at her. Truth didn't matter. Not this one. "You hope that they're right."

They were across the room from each other, he by the door and she by the window, half her face in shadow. There was a pause and then she said bitterly, "Of course I do. I loved Richard, and he didn't deserve to die. Wanting him to be alive doesn't lead to destroying our country on a vain hope that he is."

"Oh is that so?"

"Ten years." Kahlan's voice sliced the air like iced steel. "You know as well as I that those years have changed the very foundations of our worlds."

Darken turned from her, letting her hear the words he wouldn't have said to anyone else. "But they have not changed my memory of you and Richard, and your belief that love can surpass all trials. If you wanted to love him across time, you would find your stubborn way to do it."

There was a breath of silence and then a harsh slap across his cheek. Pain blossomed instantly and he grabbed her hand, only to have her strike his other cheek and then twist from his grip with a single flick of her wrist. There was no more distance, and he wasn't the only one with burning anger.

"Is that all you are, when you take away your mask?" she demanded, hissing through her teeth. "Impulsive, insecure, distrusting? I'd rather you keep trying to win my favor."

"You will not hit me," Darken said, blood raging with a rush of emotion he couldn't swallow. He snatched for her hand to hold it still, but she kept free and for a second he hated them both.

"Why?" She was like a hurt beast, vicious, knowing exactly who had caused the wound.

Darken almost feared how strong she felt when he captured her in his arms, pinning hers to her side. "Because I love you," he said as if it were a curse.

Kahlan kissed him, her teeth raking his lower lip. Darken didn't know who won the war of dominance before he finally broke for air.

She caught hers first. "Do you think if Richard walked through that door right now, Sword of Truth in hand, that I'd just stab you in the gut without a second thought?"

He grimaced. It wasn't that question he wanted answered. It never had been. But he held his tongue and said only, "I will not be killed by my brother or you. Witchwomen's prophecy died that day in West Granthia."

Kahlan—his wife, mother of his children, Mother Confessor—nodded and relaxed in his arms. Weariness colored her eyes, hanging on every word. "If Richard was alive right now, someone would know of more than just rumor."

"I don't wish to speak of it."

They prepared for bed without another word.

Kahlan loved him. Darken had no doubt of that, and did not bristle when she came to his arms, thin nightclothes all that separated their bodies. She curled easily against him, warm and soft, and her hand against his chest said that they'd find answers together.

He ached to tell her that it wasn't true, that every secret lying between them was making him sick.

If Kahlan was a book, half her pages were still shut to him. Half or more of his were shut to her. Perhaps they couldn't live any other way.

Tired, and feeling as if honesty was something he'd lost the ability for as a child, he settled for the love they had and fell asleep cradling Kahlan in his arms.

Then a floorboard creaked.

Deep slumber vanished in an instant. Darken had only a moment of instinct to act before a shadow leapt onto the bed, the gleam of silver in its grasp.

Kahlan gasped as she awoke, and the intruder's dagger buried hilt-deep into the sheets as Darken was rolling, falling, reaching. The bedside lamp fell over in the chaos, all the oil lighting in a burst of flame.

Assassin. It was fight or die, and Darken had no need to think. The would-be assassin had hair the color of embers, and Darken knew who she was before his gut had time to clench in disappointment. Kahlan had rolled to the floor, and Darken didn't have time to grab his own dagger before his sister's was headed towards his heart again. With one backhand he flung her to the side so that she fell near Kahlan.

"Jennsen?" Kahlan gasped, in fear and confusion, trying to rise from the tangle of bedsheets.

"You're next, traitor," the redheaded girl said to her, spitting out blood as she clenched her dagger again.

Never. Darken wouldn't let his family be destroyed by a knife in the dark. His fist slipped around the dagger beneath his pillow, and before Jennsen could rise to her feet he planned to slit her throat.

"Darken, no!"

He ignored Kahlan. Couldn't she see how _tired_ he was of these foolish threats?

Without a pause, his dagger slashed down towards Jennsen's neck.

It was only with horror that he realized halfway through the stroke that Kahlan was pushing the other woman out of the way, trying to buy time. The dagger cut across her neck and collarbone with the shuddering sound of ripping flesh. Kahlan stumbled, frozen with sudden pain, hand rising to the gash in her neck as she met his eyes with confusion and fear.

The air felt like mud as Darken watched Kahlan fall backwards to the floor, her eyes wide in shock while blood stained her white nightgown. Like his mother, like that first death of his life. The world was dizzying as he fell to his knees at Kahlan's side, gathering her onto his lap. "Kahlan," he begged hoarsely. _What have I done?_

Jennsen was forgotten. Only seconds, and Kahlan's blood had already stained his hands, chest, lap. His fingers trembled and clasped over hers to hold the cut shut. He whispered her name again in pain and _fear_.

Kahlan said nothing, eyes blank as consciousness left her, and a cry tore from Darken's throat.


	16. Chapter 16

All Dahlia knew of this assignment were the words Captain Meiffert said as the redheaded girl was tossed into her dungeon. "She tried to kill Lord Rahl. Break her."

"Jennsen?"

Forgotten entirely over all these years, Dahlia for a moment could only stare at Lord Rahl's sister. Her black tunic, contrasting sharply with blood-stained pale skin, made her look tiny. Pathetic. Her eyes full of hatred and fear.

Dahlia didn't wait to catch her bearings—Mord'Sith knew their duty and did not let emotion get in the way. Leaving her useless agiel behind, she dragged Jennsen by her hair to be chained. The girl held back screams long enough, but when Dahlia's whip cut through fabric and skin alike, her wails echoed off every stone wall.

"I'm not just a little girl," Jennsen said a dozen strikes later, gulping down heaving breaths. Her slight form trembled, shaking the chains. "Denna trained me—you won't make me give up."

Filing the words away for future notice, Dahlia gave a bare smirk and nothing more. Just the lash of a whip, until Jennsen's blood soaked the remains of her clothing and dripped to the floor, and her head slumped forward with weariness.

Then and only then did Dahlia retire and wash the blood from her leather. Then and only then did she rise from the dungeon to find the palace in an uproar.

"Lady Rahl is lost to the world and fevered," Garen informed her, mouth set in a firm line. "She came in the way of Lord Rahl's blade when he was defending himself from the assassin—and you know his blades are never clean of poison. She hasn't woken since then."

Swallowing hard to rid her voice of shock, Dahlia asked her next question grimly. "And Lord Rahl?"

"Apart from threatening the healers, he has not left her side. He only just sent me to ask for your progress on the assassin."

"She was sent by Denna." Dahlia sighed and saw Garen grimace. "I don't envy the one who informs Lord Rahl of this, no." Especially since, she left unsaid, he would already feel betrayed knowing that it was his sister who intended his death.

The two Mord'Sith stood for a while in silence. Dahlia could not imagine what would become of D'Hara if Kahlan did not recover—she dreaded it with every fiber of her being. Garen hadn't needed to put into words how overcome Darken was with emotion. Dahlia had kept an eye on him for years, and knew his feelings towards his wife. To have her near death, due to his failure, would be driving him to madness. He had never handled disaster well.

And he wouldn't be the only one grieving Kahlan's death. Not wanting to face the idea, Dahlia steeled herself and returned to the dungeon.

There for the next three days she made Jennsen rue the day she entered the People's Palace. Her mind stretched to find ways to bring the girl to pain without the magic of an agiel. Jennsen screamed and her blood spilled to the stone floor, more crimson than her hair.

Still stubborn, still silent through her tears. Dahlia failed in getting more than screams.

"He wants to know where this came from," Garen said, face worn. "Lady Rahl still hasn't recovered. It's been five days."

Dahlia knew better than her sister of the agiel that Darken _needed_ to know. Something needed to come of this accident, and by the very fact that he wasn't down here with her, Dahlia knew he blamed himself as much as Jennsen. For his sake, for the Lord Rahl she loved, and for the Lady Rahl whose insecure fate twisted Dahlia's heart in a way she didn't know how to describe, Dahlia stripped Jennsen bare and bloody again and again and again.

Jennsen didn't break.

Dahlia had no doubts in her skills, despite the agiel's uselessness on this subject. Her keen eyes caught the steel in the girl's limbs. Denna's work, fierce and hard. Dahlia knew beyond a doubt that Jennsen _would_ break, no matter what Denna had done—and she could see that Denna hadn't fully broken her. Why, Dahlia couldn't answer, but that didn't matter.

Yet nearly a week passed, and Jennsen flinched and shuddered and wept but would not break.

Kahlan's fever was likewise.

For the first time in seven days, Dahlia received message from Lord Rahl himself. Leading Jennsen on a chain, neck stiff, Dahlia walked where directed, brow furrowing as she drew near the royal chambers.

Darken met her at the door. In some ways he looked as always—intimidating, lordly, sleek and strong. But the madness in his eyes ate into her, like fire touching paper. It consumed him from the inside out, and in only a second it made a leap to consume her as well. She sucked in a breath and bowed her head. "Lord Rahl."

"So she will not break and tell you where her rebellion might be found." Darken's words slid smoothly from his lips, taut with control.

"You're a tyrant but you're weak," Jennsen declared, even with quivering lips. "I'll never break for you."

With a hiss, and a movement almost too fast to catch, Darken tugged on the chain in Dahlia's hands. Choking, Jennsen stumbled forward to her knees, only to be wrenched up as Darken's hand closed around her neck.

"Be careful, little sister, who you name weak," he breathed into her ear.

Dahlia felt a shiver run up her spine.

Jennsen choked for air, blue eyes wide, as Darken dragged her over to the bed, his face calm but full of underlying madness. Kahlan lay propped up by pillows barely paler than her face, skin damp with sweat, the wound across her upper chest still red with unnatural infection.

Forgetting anyone else for a moment, Dahlia stared, and air seemed hard to grasp. Kahlan looked on death's door, and the Mord'Sith could not continue gazing lest she see her walk through.

"Take a good look," Darken hissed, forcing Jennsen's face towards Kahlan. "I married the Mother Confessor against her will, and even though she hated me I made her love me, and then I did _this_. And if you continue to threaten my peace I will kill her, and then one by one I will kill her innocent children and lay their bodies at your feet, until you give up the names of every single traitor's location that is in you. I can always father more heirs; these were just an idle fancy for peaceful times."

Jennsen whimpered in more fear than before. Dahlia's throat tightened and the madness in the room made her tremble. She didn't know how far it went—she didn't know how far she would go to stop it. The tension could not be read as Kahlan lay helpless and Jennsen trembled in the grip of her brother.

At the time, Dahlia didn't fully comprehend the child's gasp behind her, and the patter of tiny feet running away. Her nails bit into her palms while she stood stiff, waiting.

Finally Jennsen started to sob, falling limp in Darken's grasp. "Please," she begged through painful breaths, "please don't, I'll tell. Don't kill the children, brother. Please."

With a ragged exhale, Darken pushed the weeping girl towards Dahlia. "Get every name and location from her. And then lock her away, I don't want to see her ever again."

Dahlia met his eyes, and saw the madness fall. The act—gone like a wisp of shadow. Jennsen didn't see it, trembling in broken tears, but Dahlia saw the pain wracking Darken, the weight of grief pulling his shoulders down.

Silently, she bowed her head and did her duty.

Jennsen never knew that she had been fooled. The man she'd known, who'd had her kidnapped, who'd filled her head with lies for his own goals—the man who hadn't spent ten years as a father and a husband—no longer dwelt in Darken's heart. A different man, even if he bore the same heritage, abode there. And if there were anyone safe in this world, they were his family.

Dahlia knew this, and by the time Jennsen finished her confession, she remembered with curiosity the strange sounds by the royal bedchamber. The child's sounds.

-

No one dared to tell him that he was falling fast. In this mood, he might very well have snapped their neck for it. Sanity—a temporary gift, he'd always known—had suffered the same wound that Kahlan had. Wrenching hatred of himself, of the damage he could cause without even thinking, had cracked his mind. Control escaped him entirely for nearly a week, as Kahlan faded and Darken Rahl realized that he was the villain that rumor claimed him to be.

The Keeper seemed to knock on his chamber door with a cold laugh at his plight. Since birth he'd been promised to death, and as soon as he could grip a dagger he'd fulfilled that promise. Darken Rahl had gifted death, and pain, and madness, more times than he could count. Only what was necessary, he'd said in his mind.

Now, the words echoed back hollow. He was a destroyer. Not for any good cause, but because it was all he could do. All life, all goodness, would eventually implode under his care. For ten years he'd played a part for Kahlan, the part of a good man, a decent man. With arrogance he'd convinced himself that he could succeed. And he had, but in the moment of truth, when instinct took over, that success vanished and he struck out.

And Kahlan had fallen. Now, beyond his or any healer's help, she lay in darkness and dreams. If the universe was just, it would be him there instead. He was damaged. Stained. Broken. Fury filled him, against his father for pushing him down this path, against himself for not understanding where it would lead, against all who had dared to love him for giving him false hope in himself. Jennsen knew the monster he was. He played a different monster to make her confess, but there was another still inside him.

If Kahlan died, so would all hope. Day after day he paced or sat by her side, feeling the ache of worry and the fragility of love. Darken had known grief before, and caring and trust. Never like this. He needed Kahlan. Her presence was a necessary part of his life, a light that had for years made him forget his own darkness. Against his will she'd made him better. Softer. Attentive. He'd given himself to her, and she hadn't rejected him. Carefully, securely, she'd locked away a part of his heart.

He'd mocked love but succumbed in the end. Five times over, when he thought of his children, those living and the one who'd never seen the light of day. He'd given up time, effort, strategy, all for this family. But it was Kahlan who was the center, Kahlan who was the focus of his life, Kahlan who made his life what it was. Without her, he could no longer be Darken. To face her lying pale and lifeless in a bed made him feel weak. And for all that he still hated weakness, he hated the idea of losing her more.

"Kahlan, my love," he murmured emptily to his wife, as she lay without any sign of recovery. His fingers traced the veins on her palm, his focus all on wishing the life back in her. There was no hope for him, no hope for a recovery from darkness. But yet—but yet, with her, he somehow kept trying. That was worth it, for them all.

Darken Rahl would never be a good man, but for Kahlan he would make every effort. Mind cracked, heart tainted, all he wanted was an escape from darkness and death. Just for a little while. Perhaps it was all he had ever wanted, from the time his father first rejected him.

That was ascribing too much humanity to his life. Disgusted again, he thought only of Kahlan. Watching her breathe, waiting for the tide to turn and for her body to heal. She must live. He'd promised her life and peace.

"Lord Rahl?" Dahlia broke the reverie.

Harsh but empty, he looked to her.

"Your daughter has been missing all day. The entire palace has been searched to no avail."

Spine stiffening, he rose to his feet. "Arianna?"

His Mord'Sith shook her head. "Irene. And my lord? She was here...she was here when you were threatening your sister."

Darken felt more life leave him. His failure had yet to finish destroying him. "She heard...and she fears me." The picture of his daughter's blue eyes full of terror sent daggers of ice through his heart.

"We can only hope it's not something worse," the other woman murmured. "Garen is waiting to help you with the search. I will sit by Lady Rahl and keep her safe."

Kahlan left his mind for the moment. Weary, worried, wasted, Darken departed the royal chambers and made swift progress to the nursery. His stomach twisted at the thought of his daughter without food or company, afraid of her father's wrath. Irene—yet another whom he'd promised to never hurt. Failure again was all he was due, and it was all he received.

Something akin to panic shone in Mistress Garen's eyes when he found her, pacing, hand tight on her agiel. "It is my fault she got free of her nurse. I will do everything that is required of me until she is safe again, Lord Rahl."

"Tell me where she normally runs," Darken demanded instead.

"To you and Lady Rahl," Garen answered, eyes bluntly meeting his. "Every time there is trouble, she runs for you. Why do you think she was there where she wasn't supposed to be in the first place?"

"That doesn't help me find her now," Darken snapped. Anger, something he could hardly avoid after a lifetime of using it, turned his hands into fists.

"We searched everywhere!" Garen did not back down, and in this moment he valued it.

He turned away, sucking in a heavy breath, the need to find his daughter supreme over all other emotions. "Search every hallway, every corridor, every cupboard, all over again."

Evening sun glinted through a window straight into his eyes, and without a word he walked off. He would search for her on his own. Until Irene was safe and calm again, Darken knew he could not rest.

But night came, and he ordered that it be sleepless for them all. The palace and its grounds, the gardens and the stables and every inconceivable hiding place, were searched from top to bottom. The guards at every exit swore that not a rat had escaped by them; the child must still be in the palace.

Fear started to take hold of Darken's heart when night passed and day came again, and still no one had found his daughter. _You cannot be dead. Not you, not my Irene, not because of me. You cannot._ Then, all in a moment, a long-forgotten memory returned. When once he'd been young, fleeing from fear, there was a place that no one had discovered. For days, stubbornly denying himself both food and water to stay hidden from his father, Darken had hidden himself in the cranny beneath a stair by the royal chambers. He'd left on his own, and never revealed the location.

"Garen, quickly," he said as soon as the memory clicked into place, flicking his hand as he wasted no time. Robes flying behind him in his haste, he found the place again, not far from where he and Kahlan made their chambers now.

Kneeling behind the stair, he looked beneath it, begging silently to find what he sought.

"Go away or I'll confess you!" The shrill girl's voice was all he wanted to hear, yet it bit like needles.

"Rini," he murmured. "My child, you don't need to be afraid." He couldn't quite see into the cranny between stair and floor where Irene had lodged herself securely, out of reach.

"Why?" her voice trembled. "Did you kill everyone else yet?"

Even though he had never meant the words he spat at Jennsen, they hurt now. He always wagered too high a price in the game of life. "I would never kill you," he swore, hoping she could see his eyes. Hoping that she didn't take the guilt for something it wasn't.

"And mother?" Irene asked, unconvinced, sounding on the verge of tears.

"Never," he swore again. "Nor Ari, nor Nicholas. Irene, I am your father and I love you. I will always love you." He was suddenly glad that Garen had departed, as the words that were too true ripped from his throat.

"You're lying," she cried, and he heard the wetness of tears in her voice. "Go away! I'll confess you if you touch me. I don't want to die."

His strength crumbled at the sound of her weeping. Closing his eyes, each breath as painful as the touch of an agiel, he waited in silence. In love and agony, both of his own making. "I love you, my child," he murmured again, once the sounds of crying had faded.

"No you don't," Irene said, her tiny voice full of despair. "You don't love anyone, that's why the people try to kill you. You're just lying..."

"That's not true." Still on his knees, he forced his voice to be firm. "Irene, I love you and all my children, just as I love your mother. There is nothing more precious to me than my family." Darken put self-hatred aside to ignore everything but his father's heart. "I would give my life for you. For any of you. And for nothing else." His words faded to whispers, but they were truth nonetheless.

She didn't answer. His own daughter still hid in fear.

Darken was not Lord Rahl. He couldn't manage that mantle now. He was simply father, and he murmured again, "I love you, my child."

Irene burst into tears again and sobbed in fear and misunderstanding, a child who did not understand her world.

Darken sat and waited until finally she crawled from under the stairs and into his arms. He wrapped her in an embrace that he did not let go of for too long. Head bowed, cradling his daughter to his chest, stinging tears fell from his eyes as Irene's soaked his robes. "I love you, I will always love you," he promised her.

The madness had finally broken him, and he knew who he was. A husband, a father, and Lord Rahl came third. He had shed the darkness for his children's sake, and that was all that mattered.

If Kahlan woke again, he would shed it for her too. For himself. For the family he finally had.

-

When the dreams finally faded away, Kahlan felt that she'd slept for years. Aching and without strength, she couldn't even open her eyes. _Why am I here?_ her thoughts asked, dull and slow.

The memory of a slashing knife, of fear and blood and pain, gave her answer enough. Despite herself, Kahlan flinched and trembled.

"She's stirring!" an unknown voice said somewhere above her, and there were hands on her chest tending to a bandage.

Kahlan swallowed and then gasped as fingers probed her wound. Strength evaded her and she lay with closed eyes. _He put me here,_ she told herself. _My husband. It was an accident, but it was his anger. His darkness._ For years she'd accepted that Darken Rahl would always have a black heart. Kahlan could live with some of that, forgive it even. But this—it made her falter, question her judgment. Too tired to open her eyes, she wondered if she'd been blind.

Yet at this point, what was there to do? _If the worst is true, do I merely wait for Richard to return and teach Arianna to help him?_

Before she could answer her own question, sleep found her again, and then another waking. This time she could open her eyes, clench and unclench her fingers. Her chamber spun dizzily above her, fuzzy, but after she blinked she saw them all. Arianna sitting on the edge of the bed with Nicholas obediently sitting in her lap. Darken, asleep in a chair to the side, Irene clinging to his chest. Kahlan could not help the ache of her heart, the longing for them all.

"Mama?" Nicholas caught the movement in her.

"Is she awake?" Arianna turned swiftly, betraying eyes wet with unshed tears. "Father, she's awake!"

Kahlan swallowed, licking dry lips and closing her eyes for a second to let the sudden chaos swirl around her. "I'm awake..."

Nicholas crawled from Arianna's lap on top of her, but Darken moved swiftly to scoop him up. "Your mother's hurt," he admonished the boy.

"No..." Kahlan reached up a hand. "Darken, he won't hurt me. He'll be gentle." The words left her mouth without thought, but when she looked up, their eyes met. Guilt and grief made him retract from her gaze, and Kahlan's throat tightened so that words were impossible. The carelessness she feared was nowhere to be seen; the proud Lord Rahl she expected, abandoned.

 _I changed because he changed. Because our lives changed._ It hurt but it reassured, and Kahlan swallowed the lump in her throat. Quietly, she held up her arms for Nicholas until Darken handed him over, and then rested back against the bed. Irene came next, a broken sound on her lips as she clung to Kahlan's arm and didn't let go.

"I'm so glad you're awake..." Arianna whispered, still sitting on the edge of the bed, tears threatening to spill over. Darken placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, and she leaned a little into the fatherly touch.

"So am I," whispered Kahlan, and despite the pain she smiled. "I love you..."

As always, her children drowned her in love. Kahlan closed her eyes and soon felt the weight of them against her. When she had the energy for sight again she saw them sleeping in and by her bed, only her husband still awake.

"They barely slept for the week that you dreamed," he murmured as explanation, one hand resting next to hers, not quite touching.

"Children's worlds are easily overturned." Kahlan lifted her hand to brush through Irene's hair. "But a little sleep and they'll be fine again."

Darken met her eyes then, with the unspoken words clear there that he wished the same could be said for their parents.

Kahlan couldn't bear the silence. "Dar—"

He shook his head, suddenly firm and determined. "There is no need. Garen is waiting outside, she will bring the children to their beds when you are too tired for them. I will leave you be."

"Stay," Kahlan ordered, barely above a whisper. "Your absence will not make me whole."

"It will keep you from fearing another wound," he answered, profile shadowed.

Even with so much of him hidden, Kahlan's eyes explored all she could see. "I'm the Mother Confessor. I am not easily scared, Darken Rahl. Especially not of the man I see before me." With the rest of her strength, she reached her hand for his, eyes on his face.

Slowly, skeptically, he turned to meet her gaze and clasp her hand.

Tired, but not so tired that she couldn't read her heart, Kahlan gripped his fingers. "You have a strong will. Make it work for you, and keep your temper." When he gave her a confused look, she tugged him closer. "If you still love me, then I will trust you one last time."

"Always," he murmured, lowering himself to a seat at her side, bringing his other hand to cradle hers.

Even if she'd been blind, Kahlan would have seen the need for forgiveness in those eyes. Those eyes which could be full of rage and arrogance or hard as stone, and yet could shine with fierce love for their children, and a passion for her that she couldn't forget. Now, soft with grief and guilt and something more, Kahlan let go of fear and worry and held onto her husband. Quietly she whispered, "I forgive you again, Darken. Now forgive yourself and let us both heal."

With a silent nod, the deal was struck. Silently, without another move as long as the night lasted, they sat surrounded by the next generation of Rahls. Kahlan still believed that love would see them through until the morning and beyond.


	17. Chapter 17

Kahlan's body defeated the poison of her wound, and after that her healing progressed as expected. The color returned to her cheeks, and within a day she smiled. Clear, warm, as if no tragedy had ever touched her life. The children laughed and gave her kisses, then with a noise that sounded suspiciously like fussing Garen whisked them back to their nursery.

"Come to my bed," she murmured, with that soft resigned look that Darken had come to know well over the past years.

He obeyed, slipping in alongside her and then letting her rest back against his chest, her right hand tangling with his left. Kahlan breathed out, and together they found the comfort of the marital bed. Darken knew that it had never been pure—their marriage had been founded on lies and violence, and no forgiveness could change that—yet sometimes darkness was washed away by light, and sometimes what started out as evil could be transformed into good. He was foolish for believing such nonsense, foolish for thinking there was a chance that he and Kahlan deserved the happy family they hoped for, and yet he would stay foolish as long as he could.

Darken stroked Kahlan's hair slowly, holding her safely in his arms.

"What will become of Jennsen?"

He paused briefly before replying. "She is Dahlia's. I may share blood relation with her, but her betrayal was too great. I almost lost everything because of her."

Kahlan tilted her head to look up at him, eyes sharp. "That is the second time you have referred to Jennsen and Richard as your kin. What can you possibly mean?"

That, he had to admit, caught him off guard. He hadn't meant to speak so openly, ever. "They are my kin," he said with furrowed brow. "My father's bastards, sired for the sole purpose to fulfill the prophecy that my own brother would destroy me."

She stared. "That can't be. Richard can't be your—"

"My brother?" Darken pushed down the urge to twitch uncomfortably. "Oh no, Kahlan, how could he be anything else? The same passion, the same obsession, the same desire for Orden's power..."

Kahlan stiffened. "Now you're trying to provoke me."

He breathed out shortly. "No, Kahlan, I am not." Lips twisting, he stroked his fingers through her hair again. "Pardon my bitterness; it has been growing for decades."

"You're not lying..." Her voice was barely audible.

"Not anymore, not to you," he murmured in reply. But his stomach turned and once again he cursed his father. _You made me unwanted from the start, is it any wonder that I made myself even more monstrous? It was prophecy after all._

"But I don't understand. If your father heard the prophecy, why did he father more children? He couldn't know that you would become a tyrant, why would he want you dead?"

"A man who could drive his wife to taking her own life is beyond my comprehension as well." Darken's words tasted sour in his own mouth and he wanted to be gone. But Kahlan didn't move and so he still held her.

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually Kahlan spoke again. "I can't imagine how you survived..."

Darken hadn't, he knew, but there was no point in quibbling over details. Almost to himself more than her, he answered, "You know. You saw the aftermath. I embraced darkness and for a long time it seemed to protect me."

"At least Richard escaped."

"At least someone rescued him," Darken corrected too swiftly.

Kahlan turned her face up again to his, eyes confused and yet—not for the first time, but each time it made his breath catch in his throat—full of growing understanding and pity. Love, in fact. Even if she didn't have all the answers, she loved him. "Richard was blessed," she finally said, and nodded. "Not all of us were so lucky."

His thumb brushed her cheek, eyes still on hers. "Us?"

She shook her head, blue eyes wavering. "I was rescued in the end, but I can't easily forget what my father did to me. Even at your darkest, you are a better father to our children than mine was to me." A light shudder ran through her limbs.

Darken wrapped his arms more securely around her, bitterness forgotten in a realization of shared history. "I will not let myself become my father. Nor yours."

"I know," she whispered, fingers tangling tightly with his. "I know."

-

Jennsen's confession saved years of fighting; Richard never appeared, Alice's loose tongue was silenced, and without leaders the people forgot the promise of a Seeker. Kahlan never did, but Darken was right—peace mattered more than what might be "right". Even so, nearly a full year passed before the last of the rebellion was squashed.

The night after Darken's speech declaring the civil war over, once the fireworks died away and the feasting finished, Kahlan found herself laughing over her glass of wine. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed.

At the end of the feast she leaned on Darken's arm, eyes on his smile as they walked to their chambers together, until finally she couldn't take it and she kissed him in the hall. Cool shadows all that surrounded them, she leaned against his chest and pressed her lips to his, and felt his warm hands cradling her face as he kissed back.

"What was that for?" he asked.

She shook her head and wouldn't tell, for the changes in the world and in him and in her were too much for words to express. Instead, she murmured, "Can you forgive Jennsen, now that there is peace again?"

He frowned, the light dying a little from his eyes and his hands slipping to her shoulders. "She is stubborn, and not to be trusted."

"She is family," Kahlan urged, eyes still locked on his. "And if you can't convince her..." With the wine she'd had, her thoughts ran faster than her judgment, and the words were off her tongue before she could rein back.

"If I can't convince her?" Darken cocked his head to the side, not understanding.

Kahlan swallowed hard. "Richard is coming back."

His hands on her shoulders gripped tightly, but that was the only anger he gave into. Even so, his voice cut like a knife. "What?"

Kahlan couldn't lie anymore. "Richard didn't die. He, the Boxes of Orden, and probably Cara, were sent to the future. Fifty eight years since that day on West Granthia." Her voice faded slightly. "I've known since the day I agreed to marry you."

The silence nearly killed her as much as the little shove of his hands as he stepped back, brow furrowing. "You've been waiting for his return."

"That was my plan from the beginning," she admitted, facing him squarely. After eleven years, there was no point in hiding. "To help send him back to the past. He'd need a Confessor to make it happen. And if I didn't survive, I needed a child..."

"Arianna." Darken's voice was as dark as the shadows he stood in.

"I gave that plan up, though. I can't tell you the day; it came on slowly, the realization that I didn't want to forget all this." Kahlan took a deep breath, hands at her sides and refusing to step back from his gaze. She let him look on her with hurt and betrayal. "I have another plan instead."

"I don't understand."

"Darken, I still love you." Kahlan dared a step forward. "Look at me."

He refused.

It was too much to expect that paranoia would just disappear. Kahlan knew that, as she knew how insecure her husband truly was at heart. Yet it hurt her. No more than she expected, but it hurt.

After what seemed like another eleven years, he finally closed the distance between them and turned his full gaze on her, piercing through any defenses she might have raised. This time there were none—for the first time, there was not a lie in Kahlan's heart.

"So my queen has more plans than I do," he said, tone flat. "I know you well, I should not be surprised."

"No, Kahlan admitted. "We'll talk about them some other time, some other year." She reached up a hand to slide along his jaw. "But you should know that your brother will be coming back. And you should know that I still love you."

Distrust lit his eyes for a few more seconds. Kahlan could imagine that it might take years to escape that look. Yet at last, with a sigh, he said, "The world no longer makes sense..."

Kahlan laughed her agreement humorlessly. Paranoia took too much energy, and life had left them both weary to begin with. So she asked forgiveness in a kiss. He gave it back with an embrace, allowing her a portion of trust. No more was said for months.

-

It would have been a lie, however sweet, if Darken denied moments of doubt about Kahlan's loyalties. It would have been another lie if she'd proclaimed unadulterated trust in him.

They were a twisted pair, he and the Mother Confessor. Life had made them cautious and more. This life in particular had made them brutal and selfish for a time.

How do you recover from that? Lies, pain, grief—how did you make up for them? Kahlan seemed to wonder the same. After all, if they were stuck together for the rest of this lifetime, healing was the only goal worth having. Yet not a soul existed to advise them, even if Darken could find the humility to ask.

Instead, like a child, he resulted to trial and error. He practiced love and received trust, except when he grew distracted and it ended in pain. Then he practiced apology and receiving forgiveness. He accepted Kahlan's honesty and love, and gave trust back in return, bit by bit each passing month until doubts only existed in his head. Richard would always be his rival, but what did that matter when Kahlan chose to come into his arms?

As for himself, Darken could not undo what he'd done, and in some ways he didn't want to. Yet in some ways he did, if only to spare the haunted look in Kahlan's eyes that she would never explain to him. He knew more of her inner demons than she thought, and knew that no forgiveness would ever completely repair the hurts he'd caused her. Silently he stood or sat by her side, jaw clenched as he forced himself to wait. _I am not the man she dreamed of, but I am the man she wants and needs now, and so here I am. Hers._

When they danced together at the feast, and she swirled in his arms like a kite of red and black, smiling for him and him alone, Darken felt the worth of a settled life.

When winter struck hard and they sat around the fire in the evenings, children piled on rugs and laps, their eyes met over the tiny tousled heads and there was sharing in the gaze of grief and joy alike.

When they found the moments of happiness away from doubt and darkness, when they struggled and finally mastered old bad habits, when they _tried_ for everything good because otherwise life would be miserable—then, they were not just a tragic royal pair. Husband and wife, for better or for worse.

Too many times it had been for worse. Darken was done accepting that, and cherished every moment of the better times.

There might have been a "righter" way to achieve this, Darken allowed. A less disastrous way or a less painful one. One that served the Keeper's will less, at the beginning. But he had never been a good man, and doubted his goodness even now when the people lived in peace and his children looked up to him in adoration.

A good father, a good leader, a good husband—these epithets were becoming his. Wonders never ceased in the world, and though Darken had grown to hate his imperfections, he was content with their existence.

"The past never leaves us, but it need not control our future," he whispered, on the sixth anniversary of Morgan's death as he and Kahlan stood at the gravestone.

"No," she agreed, a sound so soft that it barely broke the air. "The future is ours."

He rested his hand on her shoulder and closed his eyes. His own future. Their own. It was a gift beyond price.

-

Dahlia lost her first love to one Rahl, Richard. The second she lost to Darken. It should have been a bitter comfort, to realize the place Kahlan had taken in her heart at the same moment as she realized that it was a hopeless yearning. Kahlan's smile held all the strange luck of friendship, but no desire. Mord'Sith should not accept failure, and yet Dahlia did. To be by Kahlan's side, even as merely a confidant, healed more loneliness than it provoked.

Considering that Garen spent all her time among the Rahl children or down in the dungeon with Lord Rahl's sister, Dahlia would cherish anything she received.

"The summers are warmer here than I'm used to," Kahlan told her as she walked in the garden, the brilliant sun making faint crow's-feet appear around her eyes. "I can't imagine how you stand your leathers."

Dahlia smirked, half a step behind. "Mord'Sith are made to endure pain."

"Yes, I know." Kahlan chuckled under her breath, something she never would have done when first she came to live here. "But discomfort is something else. I've felt an agiel, I could handle it much better than this heat. My gowns and undergarments stick to me until I feel ready to murder someone."

"If you like," Dahlia offered coolly, gesturing with one gloved hand, "I can agiel you until the summer ends, and thus distract your mind."

"Don't tempt me," Kahlan warned. She shook her head, neatly arranged curls bouncing around her face.

"D'Hara is a land of heat in more ways than one." Dahlia followed her Queen—her mistress, truth be told—and joined her when she sat by the fountain. "We are an impulsive people. Quick to love and quick to hate, and swift to act on either emotion. It is why being a Mord'Sith is prized...that control is bought only with the greatest effort."

"And sacrifice," Kahlan murmured, resting her hand on Dahlia's arm.

She did not _mean_ it as condescension, Dahlia knew. Yet still, as always, she had to comment upon it. "Don't pity me, Kahlan. I would not be happy in any other life than this one."

"Even with all the pain?" Kahlan never stopped asking questions. Dahlia never wanted to stop her.

"There's pleasure to be found in pain." Lips curving in a small smile, Dahlia leaned closer, taking advantage of the situation as far as she could. "Darken knows it as well as any Mord'Sith. Once you can control the pain in your mind, it is nothing more than intensity. The agiel becomes a lover's caress, drowning the senses in passion."

It did not take a Mord'Sith's keen gaze to catch the hitch in Kahlan's breath, the little skip of her pulse. She pulled her lower lip partway between her teeth, gnawing for a moment before saying, "And does it take years of training? Your sisters—and Darken—how much did you endure before you reached that point?" As if against her will, there was a curiosity in her voice. A lust for more of what she'd been denied for so long. She and Darken both were apt to drown in sensuality, taking all that they'd never been given.

 _She would have been a powerful sister of the agiel_ , Dahlia thought with a little ache in her chest. _Even now she belongs here, with us, with the Rahls. She doesn't know it, but she does._ "No, not years. Not even weeks, if the training is intense."

With an unreadable expression, the other woman nodded and turned to continue the walk in silence.

Two weeks later, Kahlan stood in Dahlia's dungeon, eyes glowing like the embers of a fire. "I want to feel the agiels as you feel them."

"I can't promise you that," Dahlia heard herself say, though her throat felt tight.

"I trust you."

That was enough.

Kahlan wept and shivered and screamed like every pet Dahlia had ever had. Even without restraints, fear paralyzed her. Or so Dahlia believed until she pulled her agiel back, and Kahlan shakily swallowed her tears and demanded. "More. I can handle more."

She left with welts, and the next day walked stiffly. "I pushed myself too hard," she admitted, though without shame.

Lord Rahl told her that if Kahlan came to any harm, Dahlia's blood would be scattered over every stone in the castle. She didn't know how to tell him that she'd rather be tortured for eternity than truly hurt Kahlan.

Yet the woman had a masochistic streak. Perhaps determination alone, and the iron will to conquer, could master pain if one had already lived a life of it. Not completely, but more than Dahlia expected.

"I've been wielding the agiel since I was ten," she warned, letting the familiar agony warm her arm.

"I've known worse," Kahlan said curtly, and pulled the agiel to her collarbone with heat in her eyes.

Days later, and Kahlan could bite back screams without biting so hard as to bring blood. Dahlia joined her on the floor, cross-legged, when their session was done. Kahlan's face was starting to look lined near the corners of her mouth, though only with her hair pulled so sharply back.

"My father tied me to the bed every night," she said, flat and almost a whisper.

Dahlia looked up, and saw Kahlan touching her wrists as if they were stiff.

"He hated and feared me and my little sister. She was only three, and whenever I fought back he only had to glare at her for her to beg me to give in." Compulsively, Kahlan rubbed at her wrists, the same motion over and over. "When he forced us to confess women and command them to his bed, sometimes he'd forget to let us leave before enjoying them. If we left on our own, he wouldn't be kind once he found us. I had to cover my sister's eyes as we huddled in a corner, waiting for him to finish and bind our hands and lock us in our room."

Dahlia knew pain. She knew suffering, and how to inflict it. But for a purpose. Out of love. Sheer cruelty to a child, for no purpose at all, made her blood run chill. "Even Mord'Sith trainees are not treated so."

Kahlan seemed to understand, even if Dahlia knew she would never condone how Dahlia's sisters operated. "When my third daughter died, before I could hold her in my arms, it felt like all those years of fear and hurt were crushed into a single second."

Almost, Dahlia reached for Kahlan, a sister's clasp of hands. She cared for Kahlan's children, in her way; she was not ashamed of it.

Before she could, Kahlan took a breath and let it out. "Your agiel cannot hurt me like that. Sometimes I forget that it's painful at all."

 _Good_ , Dahlia should have said. _You're learning._ "Now you need to control it," she said softly. "Make it yours, and it can never hurt you again."

The queen nodded, and raised her eyes to Dahlia's. "Darken can use an agiel. Why?"

"Ask him," Dahlia said, forcing down the desire to steal all this woman's confidences and treasure them away, giving them importance that Kahlan didn't—couldn't—mean.

Again, her agiel met Kahlan's white flesh. The Confessor hissed, breath sharp between her teeth, but her eyes shone with a fire that was not mere defiance.

Days turned into weeks, and at last Kahlan's eyes rolled back in her head. She swallowed, drinking in the pain, and Dahlia watched with a throb in her heart that no agiel could bring. Kahlan's pulse quickened, her skin pinkened, and half a moan escaped her.

Without pulling the agiel from Kahlan's throat, Dahlia leaned in to steal a kiss. Foolish. Yet Kahlan kissed back, with a wild heat that almost burned. For a moment the impulse resulted in perfection.

Then Dahlia pulled her agiel away. "Now you know what we feel," she murmured at last into the breathless silence.

"Thank you," Kahlan whispered. She didn't mention the kiss, and Dahlia thought it was better that way.

-

"He was being mean to me," her brother protested, arms over his chest.

Arianna fumed, but knew that Garen would not approve of her _hitting_ anyone. She took a deep breath and used all of her nearly-eleven-years of height. "You're not allowed to confess anyone, Nicky, unless they hurt you. Mother is in charge of confessions, and after her comes me. Then Rini, then you. You're the littlest, you can't confess anyone." She glared, and saw him wilt just a little. "And especially not for just being a bully."

"But he was mean..." Nicholas had a hard look in his eyes, like father, but only for a few moments. Arianna's glare subdued him, as always.

"Who is the future Lady Rahl?" Arianna demanded, hands on her hips.

"You are," Nicholas murmured, eyes dropping.

"And I say there will be no confessions for you. If you do it again, I will tell Father."

Nicholas sighed and nodded, as compliant as he ever became.

"Now go play," Arianna ordered, feeling benevolent once she'd gotten her way.

Her brother ran off to the toy chest where Irene was building a replica of the Palace. They were such children, only five and eight. Arianna skipped proudly out of the nursery and headed towards the armory. If she was lucky, Garen or General Meiffert would be there. They would be proud of her. She may not have an agiel, but she could rule as well as Father _and_ Mother.

At least her siblings. No one would let her rule anything else yet. It was hard, being only almost eleven...

-

If the summers in D'Hara were hot, the winters were just as cold. The flat plains held no insulation. Cream-colored stone rose from the jagged bluffs to form the Palace and its surrounding city, but unless the sun shone there was no warmth. Thick stone walls were not enough—roaring fires, heavy furs, and tapestries and drapes in every chamber were required. In the gold and crimson and black of the Rahl colors, it seemed a little warmer just in appearance.

Kahlan nuzzled closely to Darken in their bed, covered by two heavy blankets and a fur bedspread. Even through the nightclothes, she could feel the heat of him and the firm beat of his heart. Imagining life without someone she could lie next to, free of worry about her powers, was beyond her ability now. This was her life.

"Do you believe in the Creator?" she asked her husband, fingers stroking over the raised skin of a scar on his chest.

Neither a yes nor a no came in reply, and that surprised her. Kahlan had meant it as a simple question. There were so many still to ask, now that she knew she loved this man.

When her eyes flicked up to his, Darken looked as if wracked by pain. "Should I not ask that?" Kahlan asked in a softer voice.

"Not if you wanted a straight answer," he finally said, letting out a heavy breath. As he did when lost in thought, he wrapped one of her curls around his finger, let it uncurl, then repeated the motion. "I have met the Keeper. That is all the certainty I have on powers beyond man's."

"And what about prophecy?" Kahlan kept her fingers feather-light on his skin, watching the light in his eyes shift with the pattern of his thoughts.

"Useful and useless." His answer came almost too quick. "Perhaps part of magic, perhaps a gift of the Creator. I'm no philosopher." Darken cast his gaze down to her, curious. "Why does it matter?"

"Maybe it doesn't," she heard herself saying, but her heart fluttered. It still felt strange, to confess anything of herself to Darken Rahl. Not least because of their history, yet also because of his defenses. The walls he'd constructed, higher than her own, that took such work to break through. Sometimes Kahlan felt as if it was a competition—and she didn't want to lose.

Yet love was love, not a strategy, and so she admitted freely, "Yes, I believe there's a Creator. I didn't when I was a child, but once grown... I want to believe that there's a reason to expect good fortune, if you value life and protect it. Our family, and my family before—I don't want to consider them the product of chance."

A crease formed between Darken's brows. "If the Creator blessed you, then was she looking the other way when you suffered?"

"The Keeper exists too," Kahlan said, but she understood the taste of bitterness in his words. "They war for control over the earth, so the texts say. In wars, there are victories and losses. When my father bound me and my sister's hands every night to keep us from confessing him, and forced us to use our powers for his benefit, perhaps the Creator was watching but could not gain the victory. Eventually I found my Confessor family...that matters just as much as the suffering."

"If there is a Creator, then she has only brought me you," Darken said under his breath. "Even before I rejected her, my father used her against me. The Creator says that children should obey their parents no matter what. The Creator's prophecy said that I would be murdered by my baby brother. The Creator killed me as an infant so the Keeper could take his own..."

Kahlan shivered, and not from cold. "Darken."

"If the Creator exists, I do not know that I can love her. My father believed in her—and believed that she shone her approval on him." The sharpness in his voice told her that he hated the very notion.

"No," Kahlan said firmly. "If the Creator exists, she would have loved you. You were a child."

"There was no love in what my father did," Darken said, with a voice almost empty. "The disconnect between that and his words about the Creator is difficult for me to bridge."

She shook her head, rested it on his shoulder. "It doesn't matter if she exists or not. Suffering is still the work of the Keeper. I only hope dark torment exists in the Underworld for my father...and for yours...and for all those who do not realize the precious gift of their children."

"That is the wisest response," he answered, low and soft, resting his hand at the back of her neck.

Before she could open her mouth in reply, however, the foot of their bed moved. A lump moved up under the covers, and out poked a tousled dark head.

"Nicholas," Darken chided in surprise.

"What are you doing?" Kahlan asked.

"I'm cold," the boy said. "And so is Rini. Can't we sleep in your bed?"

Darken snorted as if that was the least likely thing to happen tonight, but Nicholas crawled half on top of Kahlan and then Irene peeked around the door.

"Is it alright?" she asked hesitantly.

In the face of two children, Darken seemed incapable of resistance. He made a low sound, and soon Irene too had hopped into the bed and under the covers, snuggling against her father's side.

Darken yelped. "Feet."

"Sorry, we're really cold," Irene mumbled, just a round face above the dark furs.

"Who let you come close?" Kahlan asked, stroking Nicholas' hair. "Garen or Dahlia?"

"Both," her son said, with a bit of pride. "Arianna said we were acting like babies and she was going to tell Mistress Garen that we'd slipped off, but it didn't work and Mistress Dahlia pretended she didn't see us."

"Of course she did," Darken said, with sarcasm that Kahlan knew he didn't mean. He had his arm around Irene, just as fatherly as ever.

"Mm, I see," Kahlan said, and smiled a little. There was never enough time for them all as a family. Her youngest was nearly six already, her eldest growing ever closer to womanhood.

Another sound at the door brought all four heads up.

Arianna, a lanky twig in her nightgown with unbrushed hair, crossed her arms. "I don't want to be all alone..."

Kahlan laughed. "Come join us in bed, then. I'm sure Lord Rahl won't mind." She smirked at Darken, and he tried and failed to hide the beginnings of a smile. They all nestled comfortably in the large bed and soon forgot the cold altogether.

"I wish I had someone I could sleep with all the time," Nicholas said, half muffled where he snuggled against Kahlan's side. "This is a lot warmer than sleeping alone."

"When you're older," Darken said over Kahlan's shoulder and Irene's head. "Though I suggest you don't get married for that reason alone."

"Well we don't even know anyone we could marry," Arianna pointed out, her head resting against Darken's other shoulder. "How did you and Mother meet, anyway?"

For a moment the comfort turned dark, awkward and stiff. Kahlan didn't meet Darken's eyes. It was quite one thing to forgive the past, but forgetting was impossible.

Darken broke the tense silence. "We were at war, your mother and I."

Kahan let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and nodded. "We were different people then, Arianna. Everything was different."

"Did you fight a lot?" Nicholas asked.

"Yes..." Kahlan admitted. "But we stopped, in the end."

"As your mother said, things changed," Darken said softly.

The children quieted down. It was late and they were sleepy, and none of this meant much to them. Sleep came to them all, one by one, until Kahlan looked up to see only Darken awake. "Do you regret changing?" For a moment she didn't know if she'd said the words aloud.

He frowned. "Of course not." His fingers combed through her hair, gentle, peaceful. "This is where I'm happy." Left unsaid was the aching _perhaps the only happiness it's possible for me to know_.

Kahlan nodded, and wondered with a half-smile why she'd asked.

-

"I am sorry," Jennsen said, kneeling in front of his throne. "I was hasty, and I believed what Denna told me."

Darken's fingers twitched, rubbing back and forth over his lower lip. Kahlan sat in her throne beside him, all cool authority and determination. She wouldn't let him allow his emotions free rein—he wouldn't either, as he'd promised her two years before.

The words had sincerity. So did her eyes, as blue as any Rahl. All of her, from her humble kneeling to Garen's easy stance behind her, said that Jennsen truly had repented of her assassination attempt.

Kahlan had asked him to forgive his sister, and yet Darken struggled. Tendrils of hurt and hatred twined around his heart, as strong as the roots of a great oak. One hand rested on the arm of his throne, knuckles white as he gripped the carved and gilded chair. She had tried to kill him, had intended to kill his family. Where was the innocent sister that he'd found so many years ago?

This Jennsen was a grown woman, marked by pain and torment. Her red hair hung limply around her neck, dark circles hanging likewise beneath her eyes. _I haven't used the agiel in months_ , Garen had informed him. _She has simply opened her eyes to the truth._

Kahlan, Dahlia, Garen—all told him to give another chance.

Finally, with an effort, Darken nodded to Jennsen. "Your apology is accepted."

A relieved smile crossed her lips. "Thank you, brother."

Darken swallowed and looked at Kahlan. Her soft eyes held pride, and she nodded slightly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Taking a deep breath, he focused again on his sister. His _sister_. "You may have quarters among my family, and be granted the privileges of a Rahl in this Palace, so long as you remain loyal to all our laws."

Jennsen nodded, rising to her feet. "I will. I—I'm tired of the war."

"There is no war here," Kahlan promised.

Darken rose from his throne and nodded to Jennsen, but he didn't trust himself to embrace her. Let Kahlan do that. He still needed time.

Walking out to the balcony, he looked over his realm and felt tension fade from his limbs. Denna and her resistance had been discovered and executed. Since then, peace had finally felt...not permanent, but something close to it. Everything that he ever wanted, now in his grasp. Except his father, mother, sister and brother. Those which he'd given up for lost.

Kahlan reminded him that he still had a sister, and so he did. Perhaps one day he might trust and love her. And he had a brother too, though one he would never now see again.

 _Every reasonable thing I ever wanted..._

Dahlia joined him on the balcony a few moments later. "Do you need anything, my lord?"

He shook his head. "I'm content, Dahlia." The first Mord'Sith of his household gave him an unreadable expression. "What do you think of D'Hara now?" he asked, waving a hand at the realm. "You never speak your mind."

She gave him a brief smile, knowing he meant in comparison to Cara and Denna. "My thoughts don't need to be spoken. But if you ask for them...I think it is a land worthy of its royal family."

Darken raised an eyebrow. "Politic as always..."

Dahlia made a little noise, shaking her head. "You know my love for you and the Queen."

That was true enough. He'd seen more than trained loyalty in Dahlia's eyes over the past years, and those feelings had made her more valuable to him than he had expected. Darken did not love her, any more than she loved him, but they loved Kahlan and he had no cause to be jealous of that.

"What will my legacy be?" he asked, watching the sun set on the craggy borders of the plains.

"I think you'll be remembered as a radical leader," Dahlia said. "Not the most desired, but not hated either." One eyebrow raised, she turned to gauge his reaction.

It was fair enough, he decided. He'd done everything for the following generations, and by then he'd be dead. Their opinion of him would always be flawed, and could not hurt him. A glance back at Kahlan, however, brought to mind his children. To ignore that he would leave everything to them would be folly and cruelty both.

"That could be changed," he said, with a significant look to his Mord'Sith.

Her little smile and nod was more than mere loyalty.

Kahlan had done much for D'Hara as well as the Midlands, in the first few years of their marriage. While she hated him, she'd taken full advantage of his promises. Healing houses, orphanages, even official aid in construction and peace-keeping—all of this, D'Hara and the Midlands had known whenever there was peace in the land. It kept the army from being bored, and the people from being restless.

Still, Darken had always kept himself as the strict ruler. He heard the cries of his people, but he did not openly sympathize with them. The greater good would not allow for emotional attachment. Until now. If he must have their love, not only their acceptance, for the sake of his children, he would sacrifice a little of that safe distance.

He had more wells dug in dry towns on the desert borders of D'Hara. Tariffs on trade routes were lowered. Another three official holidays came into being at his command, and he reopened the royal marketplace in the People's Palace.

Arianna, now twelve, found it all delightful. Had she been born the daughter of a trader, he imagined that she would have carried her parent's business to grand heights. Ambition, determination, strength—all these things his firstborn had in abundance. He was _proud_ of her, beyond words, even when she disappointed him by using her power in petty squabbles with her siblings. Kahlan told him that she was his daughter, but he saw mostly Kahlan in her. If well taught, she might be the greatest Rahl to ever rule these kingdoms.

So when she begged to visit the marketplace, and neither Garen nor Dahlia was available, Darken took her arm and escorted his daughter himself. Arianna was bright, lively, and inspired not a single glare the entire day. Considering that she was both a Confessor and his heir, Darken was surprised at this. He watched her smile and laugh at each booth, not overly affectionate but open all the same, her red gown and golden necklace vividly bright in the sunlight—and he saw the people return the emotions, loving her in their own way.

Before they returned to the palace, a flower girl of no more than eight ran from her father's booth to hand both Arianna and Darken a single rose each. "Thank you," she lisped with a little smile. "Thank you for keeping us safe."

Darken stared at the flower, for a moment suspecting poison or a spell.

Arianna giggled, and leaned down to kiss the girl on her forehead. "Thank _you_."

With a toothy grin, the girl ran off, and her father gave an appreciative nod from the booth.

"Father?"

Darken still held the flower between thumb and forefinger, as if bewildered.

"Nothing," he said, with a small smile at his daughter. The rose he gave to her, and then he took her arm again. They walked back in silence, Darken's mind still caught on the unexpected incident.

Even if the peasant girl could not remember the war between D'Hara and the Midlands, her father could. Yet neither hated or feared him, and he could swear that there was a forgiveness in that token. The flowers were a simple gift but full of meaning. Those two treated him as if he were _good_.

Darken knew he was not. Impatient, sometimes ruthless still, and enjoying revenge and pain more often than he should—he was no hero, and had done unforgivable things in his past. No longer, but that erased nothing. Except, perhaps, some of the bitterness. Kahlan had tossed her grudges to the wind, and so had some of his people. The forgiveness created an ache deep within his chest, almost too painfully intense to bear. It was love, of a kind, and one he had earned. Darken could not even find cynicism, and merely accepted it in silent gratitude.

A few months later, the harvest came, ripe and abundant and the most fertile in half a dozen years. For the first time, there was no worry about the winter stores. Kahlan ordered a nationwide festival to be held, and with Jennsen's help did most of the planning. They spared no expense. Singers, jugglers, magicians, archery, dances, feasts, re-enactments of historical battles, comical plays performed on stage...everything that D'Hara and the Midlands had to offer, they promised. Darken wondered how much bounty would be left, by the time the celebration concluded.

Yet when the festival arrived, the crisp autumn air alight with the smell of bread and bonfires and spices, the sunlight streaming from a cloudless blue sky, it was everything that it was meant to be. Arianna and Irene tugged on his arms, begging to attend, and Nicholas too seemed determined to go.

"The Mord'Sith would cause distress there," Darken told them. "And it is not safe for you to attend alone."

"What if they weren't wearing their leathers?" Arianna prompted.

Darken grimaced, not relishing the idea of telling Dahlia or Garen _that_ plan.

" _Please_ , father?" Irene asked, more eagerly than she'd ever asked him for anything.

His concern for their safety melted before their enthusiasm. "Very well, but I will be there myself." Darken trusted his Mord'Sith with his life, and Kahlan's, but his children were vulnerable and he could scarcely entrust them to anyone but himself or Kahlan. The Mord'Sith would understand, surely, after all these years.

A day before the outing, however, Kahlan entered his throne room like an avenging spirit. One glance at her face, and he prepared for the worst. A flick of his wrist, and the room emptied but for them. "Kahlan," he said cautiously.

She didn't reply with his name. Emptiness and fear darkened her eyes, a fierce and chaotic storm about to unleash. "Nicholas." A chill slid up his spine at her tone. "He confessed a playmate."

Darken sat forward in his throne. "Why?"

"Because he pushed him." Kahlan's mouth quivered, betraying something behind her emptiness. "Daniel pushed him and when Nicholas rose to his feet he confessed him." Her voice never cracked.

Darken's stomach clenched. "A child's mistake." Stepping down from his throne, he met her eye to eye. "Surely there is more to the story and he will be punished, like Arianna was." The words came so easily, yet without the confidence he'd tried for.

"I hadn't taught Arianna properly when she confessed Alice," Kahlan said, shaking her head. "She'd been neglected because we were mourning Morgan. But I've given Nicholas rigorous training, as far as any child his age could be pushed." She ran long fingers through her hair and they trembled. "He's a male confessor..."

The break in her voice would destroy them all if he did nothing. Swiftly, Darken slid his arms about her waist, drawing her into his arms. She felt like a bow drawn back to the shoulder, all tension. "Nicholas is our son," he whispered into her ear, "he's no demon."

A half breath escaped her lips, and she didn't pull away. There was no need to put into words what they'd shared with Nicholas. His stumbling first steps, the laughter as he'd found a kitten in his bed, wet childish kisses after supper, racing through the halls after his sisters with high pitched wails of glee, drawings of line figures dedicated to Mama and Dada...

"I can't unleash a tyrant on the world," Kahlan choked against his robes, clinging so her fingers dug into his shoulders. She left unspoken her horror that it might be inevitable—that now was the only chance they had before it would be too difficult.

Their family was so happy. Finally, after years of effort, they were finally achieving harmony. Their seven-year-old son was a delight...how could this be happening? But Darken knew, and knew too well, that there was a danger that couldn't be conquered with denial.

"I will have him spend more time with me," he promised, gripping her tightly as he made the vow. "He cannot hide darkness from one who has known it intimately. I will not let him take that path."

"But what if he's already there?" Kahlan was shaking, so many years of mild worries surfacing with this primal fear. Once, for love, she'd defied the traditions she'd been raised with. Now, yet again, love and duty warred in her heart, and she could not abandon the latter. Only compromise. "What if he hurts someone, or kills a Mord'Sith, before we can stop him?"

And for that, he had no answer. Silent, comforting with touch if with nothing more, he held his wife in his arms, When his fingers stroked through her hair, he could feel the radahan around her neck, still a symbol of the danger of confession. The dread in his gut twisted into a hard knot.

-

They hadn't spoken more about Nicholas. Darken left, brooding, and the rest of the day she hadn't seen him. The weight on Kahlan's heart felt unbearable and she couldn't rest. Was she never to be free of monsters? Her husband had grown into something human, but was her son doomed? The part of her that wanted to hope otherwise, rebelliously, was keenly strong but not yet overwhelming.

It was the thirteenth year since she'd married Darken. In D'Hara that was a sign of good luck, but Kahlan felt the omen in a Midlands way, one of doom and disaster.

"You will grind the floor to dust," Dahlia finally burst forth, as Kahlan continued to pace with clenched hands. A couple steps forward and the Mord'Sith was at Kahlan's side, gripping her arm. "Do you want to end up ill with all this worry?"

Kahlan opened her mouth to protest the fussing, but couldn't find words.

Then Dahlia swept her away to the bathhouse, and Kahlan submitted. The woman's touch alone was distracting, insistent, and instantly absorbing of some of her stress. By the time Dahlia was stripping her and all but pushing her into a heated bath, Kahlan even _wanted_ to let go.

"Thank you," she started to say, as the water lapped at her breasts with comforting heat.

Dahlia, naked and with her braid undone, put a finger to Kahlan's lips and said only, "Relax. I'm not done yet."

She did, leaning back and shuddering softly as Dahlia's fingers worked the tangles from her hair and massaged her scalp. Ever since they'd found common ground and friendship, Dahlia had been almost affectionate to her. More than once, she'd eased away the stress in Kahlan's muscles with an effective massage. Forgetting about Nicholas, Kahlan once again gave herself over to the service, letting Dahlia's fingers soothe away the physical signs of stress.

The lump in her throat diminished, her mind cleared, and Kahlan relaxed back and did not even jerk in surprise when she felt Dahlia's warm wet body against her own. The Mord'Sith sucked in a breath, but Kahlan didn't even open her eyes.

"I'm glad I could help," Dahlia murmured, rinsing the last soap from Kahlan's hair.

Turning, Kahlan meant to thank her again with a smile. Dahlia stood chest-deep in the bath, skin lightly flushed, lips parted, her hair damp and curling around her shoulders. Softness marked her, not merely in appearance but in her eyes, a smoky blue that was deep and liquid now. For the first time, Kahlan realized that she saw love there. Not friendship, but the desire of one soul for another. It was something a Mord'Sith should be ashamed of, yet Dahlia stood there bare in every way and met Kahlan's eyes—unassuming, not expecting anything, but utterly open.

Kahlan became aware of her own nakedness then, and felt the heat rise. The lump returned to her throat, but it was the twist of softer feelings than worry or fear. It was not feelings for Nicholas, or Darken, that held her heart now. It was something— _something_ —for the woman standing before her, hard as stone and soft as silk.

With a hesitant intake of breath, Kahlan pressed her lips lightly to Dahlia's, fingers curling in the Mord'Sith's long hair. A little whimper tangled in Dahlia's throat, vibrating through her lips, and Kahlan could almost taste the pounding of her pulse. Yet for all that, it was over before it began, and Kahlan was casting her eyes to the side and catching her breath.

"Not now," Dahlia whispered, her fingers finding Kahlan's and gripping them hard. "Forget about this."

The woman was right. Kahlan's family needed her, and she couldn't be distracted too far. "For now," she agreed quietly, and rose out of the bath. Dahlia tended to her like a queen in blessed silence, and after escorting her to her room left to stand guard outside.

Kahlan had no more answers now than before. As her hair dried, she twisted a lock of it around her fingers, looking into the mirror and wondering if she'd failed as a mother. What would become of her children, if she lost Nicholas to his power? What of her people? Why had she brought this torment upon herself?

Darkness filled the chamber, shadows slowly blanketing around her until she could barely see her face in the mirror, the candle flickering.

At last Darken came in, as night was beginning to fall. She ached for his touch, for the comforting presence that he so often brought. The love between them could never be perfect, but it was strong and it filled her, and she needed nothing more right now. If ever anyone could understand the pain she felt right now, it was the man who had helped her bear this son, who had raised him alongside her with the same fierce devotion.

He stepped behind her as she sat before her mirror, covering her shoulders with his hands.

"I hope you had a reason for leaving me alone," she whispered, but swayed back into his touch.

"I did." His hands that could be so strong and deadly were carefully gentle as they squeezed her shoulders, his lips pressing against her head.

Kahlan closed her eyes, waiting for what would happen next.

His fingers stroked through her hair, pulling it back from her neck, but then paused.

"What is it?" she asked after a few minutes of hesitation that she didn't understand. "What are you doing, Darken?"

"Something that I should have done years ago, if I had been a better man." His words, quiet and heavy in the dark, made something tingle up her spine.

Kahlan opened her mouth to ask another question, still confused, but then she heard a click. Just a small click of metal, and then a rush of power flowing through her as her radahan fell into her lap. Tears flooded forth with no thought to her bidding, and she sucked in a ragged breath as thirteen years' worth of Confessor magic filled her again, a bliss that couldn't be described. She'd forgotten how right it felt. The shock gripped her for a full minute, her breathing shaky and the tears streaming down her face. "Darken," she finally whispered, turning to look up at the man.

He shook his head and merely kissed her, not with passion but with love.

Magic sparked, and her full powers released into him, stronger than any moment of bliss between the sheets. Kahlan wrapped her arms around him, almost clinging, until the shock faded and she whispered. "Why? Tell me why."

"I'm not afraid," he said, hands splayed across her back. "Not of Richard, not of my people, not of my own darkness. Not of you. I placed that collar around your neck out of fear. No more. You are free, Kahlan."

Darken stood back and let his hands slide down her arms, settling in a loose clasp of her hands, his eyes meeting hers. Waiting. Forcing himself to hold back.

The life she'd lived flashed before Kahlan's eyes as she stood under that gaze. A desperate childhood, a dutiful girlhood, and that time in between that had been full of hate for him and determination and the beginnings of love for a Seeker. Beyond that point, it was a life with him. Unwanted at first, nothing more than a means to an end. Yet with struggle and with blood and sweat and tears, they'd become human together. Wife and husband, mother and father, queen and lord. Kahlan and Darken. She never would have chosen this, and yet now it mattered too much.

Once, Kahlan had intended to wipe all this tragedy away. There was certainly enough she still wanted to change. Pain and death and tragedy and _evil_. Overcome, and yet unforgotten. But now that all the choice was given to her, and she truly was free, she knew that she couldn't destroy this completely. Life was too precious to call a failure simply because things had not gone well.

With a soft smile, Kahlan wound her hands with Darken's, and stepped close to him once more. "I am free to stay with my family and my people and my husband."

Relief lit his eyes, that for the first time in years seemed almost free of all pain. "I love you," he whispered in the dark.

Her response was merely a kiss, slow and sweet and a promise for a future. However much time they had left.

When she ended the kiss, something broken finally healed.

"I thought we could have Nicholas wear the radahan, until his training is complete and there's no more danger of him losing control," Darken murmured. "No one need live in fear."

A smile touched her lips, and she nodded. "Until he's earned our trust again."

Darken rested his forehead against hers. "He is our son. I believe in him as much as I love him."

When he said it like that, Kahlan could only reply in a whisper, "So do I."

"One more thing..."

Worry lifted, Kahlan laughed. "Anything, Darken."

He smiled, more with his eyes than his lips. "At the festival tomorrow...will you dance with me?"

"There's no royal dance on the schedule, only one that any person may attend, on the green." She frowned lightly, tipping her head to the side.

Darken shrugged. "Then dance with me there. It will not hurt the common folk to see us together with them. Unless you think they will fear you without your radahan."

With another laugh, Kahlan shook her head. "I don't think they ever truly saw it to begin with. All that is passed. So yes, I will dance with you. But then for certain we will need to bring Garen and Jennsen to watch the children. And Dahlia. Dahlia should come."

A curious look flitted across his face, and Kahlan knew that she would have to explain something important later. But most certainly later. For the moment, she only kissed him again and rested against his chest until it was time to retire to bed.

They shared no more than each other's embrace, but as drowsiness overtook her and Darken's fingers brushed absently over her belly, Kahlan thought of beginnings. Harvest was a time of ending, but it was more than that. It was a time of change. Passing from old to new, as everything did in life eventually. This winter, the first they would share truly free, she wanted a new change. Perhaps it was time to bear a child for no other reason than love.

With that thought, and with nothing but love and peace, Kahlan slept in the arms of Darken Rahl yet again. Tomorrow they would dance together.


	18. Chapter 18

Pain exploded through Cara, as if her agiel had burst asunder. Before she knew her feet had left the ground, her back collided with rocky earth and her lungs expelled all their air. Stunned--and unable to see her sisters--Cara struggled for air and cursed the Seeker in her mind.

The Boxes had done this. Orden, that was for Lord Rahl, not some woodsman's brat. He and that Confessor had been almost entwined when Cara transfigured back from her falcon's form.

Swallowing a grimace at how the unfamiliar magic tingled through her skin, Cara rose to her feet. The surroundings hadn't changed, save that there was now only one other person. The Seeker, also fumbling to his feet. But still alive, so that precluded a blackout.

Not a woman to let confusion slow her down, Cara whipped out her agiel and advanced on Richard.

The boy didn't have a chance. Cara's agiel kissed his neck and he flailed, crying out, muscles spasming. "Kahlan!" he called, as if she was _hiding_ behind a bush.

Cara was about to retort with a clenched jaw when another voice snapped from out of nowhere, "Cari, stop!"

That name...those words...she hadn't heard them in years, not since...

Richard wrenched free of her grasp only to trip over a tree root and fall at her feet.

Cara spun on her heel, brow furrowed. Another Mord'Sith walked towards her from the woods, hands raised. "Oh my Cari," the woman whispered, with a voice that sounded like mountain stone, old and strong.

Yet for all that, Cara _knew_ the voice. "Dahlia?" None of this was right.

"What's going on here?" demanded Richard, hands raised to his chest since his Sword was nowhere around.

"It's all right, Richard," not-Dahlia said, almost warmly. "Wait a moment."

Cara tensed, but couldn't find it in herself to do anything. She saw Dahlia walk off, and then no more than a minute later returned. Not alone.

The old woman could barely walk, even with the Mord'Sith's help. Cara realized after a few steps that she must be blind, and scrunched up her face in confusion. The agiel still sung in her hand.

"Is it Richard?" the stranger asked, voice not as shaky as her steps.

"And Cara," not-Dahlia said, smiling in Cara's direction with eyes that had not aged--except they had.

Where was the sense in this? Cara knew powerful magic, but this...it seemed like a fevered nightmare, not a spell.

Glancing to the Seeker, Cara saw him standing stock still, mouth gaping.

"Richard..."

"Kahlan?" the Seeker blurted out.

The woman smiled, and stood up a little straighter. Her black cloak fell back to reveal the white dress of the Mother Confessor. Mother Confessor Kahlan.

Cara then laughed aloud with raw incredulity, because surely this _was_ a nightmare

-

 _"Why can't I have the radahan?" Arianna demanded, arms crossed beneath her budding breasts. "We all know Nicholas doesn't really need it."_

 _Protective motherly words—Arianna was still a child, she didn't understand this new sexuality or how to deal with it maturely, and especially with her powers—disappeared from Kahlan's lips as Darken met her eyes. That caution, the near grimace on his lips, made her swallow._

 _"We all know, do we," he said to Arianna in a flat tone._

 _"Even Aunt Garen thinks so." Arianna shrugged, in a way that only a girl of fifteen could do, blue eyes still flashing with defiance. "And if you don't let me have one, no one will dare kiss me!"_

 _And now they were back to that. Kahlan didn't know what a mother was supposed to say in moments like these, and so she said nothing. All her instincts told her to wrap her daughter in her arms, keep her safe and secure for another ten years—but if this life had taught her anything, it was that instincts weren't always meant to be followed._

 _In the end, it was Darken who had the answer. Ironic, really, but the man had been raised by Mord'Sith which was more womanly companionship than Kahlan had ever known during her blossoming._

 _"Speak to Mistress Dahlia, Arianna. She is unbiased, surely, and will give you proper counsel on this...very important matter."_

 _Arianna huffed. "Unbiased? She worships you both."_

 _Darken grunted and gave her a look._

 _Reluctantly, giving her hair a last frustrated shake, Arianna flounced from the room._

 _"Is she right about Nicholas?" Kahlan asked her husband, running a hand through her hair._

 _He remained quiet for a long while, finger rubbing at his lower lip in that old familiar pattern. Yet he looked more like a father and less like a Lord Rahl than he ever had. Flecks of grey touched his temples—the result, he had informed the children severely, of their chaos—and scant lines marked the edge of his mouth. Some of the pride had left his eyes, which seemed strange since he was exceedingly proud of his offspring._

 _At last he met her eyes. "We need to trust our son. If we don't...it may only make things worse."_

-

Richard made sure to sit himself across from both Mord'Sith. The fire was welcome on this cool night, but he would not let himself get comfortable. If only Zedd were here...

His eyes wouldn't leave Kahlan. For months he'd stared at her, aching and longing for that which he couldn't have, the pain almost unbearable as soon as he knew it was mutual. Love had been torment and delight all tangled in one emotion. Regardless, he knew Kahlan's face.

This woman was Kahlan, but not _his_ Kahlan. Richard wasn't sure if that was better or worse than a mere deception.

"Where are we?" snapped the Mord'Sith who had been attacking him, refusing the offer to sit on a fallen log. "What is going on?"

"We were just about to tell you, if you would just sit down." The other Mord'Sith, hair nearly white with age, had a peevish affection to her voice that sounded exactly like Gemma Cypher, the woman he'd known as grandmother. That was a disturbing notion, considering that this woman carried an agiel.

"Please sit, Cara," Kahlan said, nodding.

"Who are you to talk to me like that?" Cara seemed on fire, but there was desperation in her tone as much as annoyance.

"Sit," the other Mord'Sith said firmly.

Richard had to bite back a laugh, both to save his skin from Cara's agiel and because he didn't know _why_ he was laughing. All he felt was disorientation. Where was his Kahlan, the Sword, Zedd? Who were these old women?

Kahlan, eyes closed and half a smile on her lips, patted the log. The aged Mord'Sith joined her without a word, laying an arm about her waist. Ease and intimacy seemed to surround them like a warm cloak, and it made Richard's skin prickle uncomfortably.

"When you put the Boxes of Orden together," Kahlan said, nodding in Richard's direction, "you were sent fifty-eight years into the future."

Since he had all but guessed that, Richard merely swallowed.

Cara, on the other hand... "Then why am I here? That makes no sense." Her hands fidgeted, and Richard was glad that he was not within her reach.

"Were it not for the magic of your agiel, which is a part of you when you use it, this leap could not have happened." Kahlan's voice reminded Richard of a night wisp—clear, but fragile. Strong in its weakness. "Tonight, you must recreate what happened so that you can be sent back to your proper time. This future is not where you belong."

Richard found himself blinking. "This...future? If it's really been fifty-eight years, then you haven't been here the whole time, surely." Once let loose, his tongue babbled, letting out a gush of words into the strained atmosphere. "What happened? How do you know all this?" He bit back his words before saying something achingly emotional. Not in front of the Mord'Sith. No. This was Kahlan, and he needed to know everything, but not in front of them.

"Why are you with a Confessor, Dahlia?" Cara asked quietly after a moment of silence, adding her own question to the barrage.

Kahlan didn't look to Dahlia. The fact that she was _blind_ and couldn't even see him stabbed straight to Richard's heart again. He no longer doubted the reality of this—it simply felt right—but he had not yet escaped shock. It was as if he'd been plunged into an icy lake after just stepping out of a hot bath. Except the ice here was the grey-white hair that fell around Kahlan's shoulders, and the worn Confessor's dress that hung on her body.

"Darken Rahl captured Shota soon after you and Cara disappeared," Kahlan began, folding her hands on her lap. "Once he discovered that you were indeed missing, he assumed you dead. Shota realized otherwise, and told me as we were both in Rahl's dungeon. And then Darken Rahl made me his queen."

Richard flinched, hands automatically clenching into fists. His already-unsteady stomach flipped in horror, not least at the calm in Kahlan's voice. "What?"

And Kahlan smiled, a knowing smile, that only made it worse. "Oh how I've waited so many years to hear you say that, Richard Cypher. But there's more to the story than that, I promise."

With that, there was nothing else to do but listen. Richard felt a shudder of dread, somehow knowing that this tale would not be easy to hear.

-

 _The kitten leapt out of a shadow and landed on his head with a yelp, digging tiny claws into his scalp. Hissing, Darken reached up to dislodge the creature. "If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times," he muttered under his breath, wondering which child's pet it was this time._

 _Grey and energetic, the tiny cat avoided capture for a while, clinging to Darken's velvet robes. At last, though, he secured it in his grip—only to lose control again when almost tripping over a spotted black-and-white one running through the hallway._

 _"Children." Sighing, Darken scooped up the second kitten and ignored that the first one had once again nestled in his hair. He walked into his chamber, intending to deposit them in the box at the end of the bed, at least until his daughter came asking for them._

 _"Darken, I ne—" Kahlan rounded the corner, and then paused, lips slightly parted. "Oh." Something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle escaped her lips._

 _"It's not funny," Darken informed her, handing her the kitten in his hands._

 _"It likes your hair," Kahlan said, attempting a straight face and failing miserably. "Oh Darken."_

 _"Not funny at all."_

 _But Kahlan laughed, and it was either join her or fuss, and he was in no mood for the latter. His children were annoying, but also loving and safe and decently behaved. That was all that mattered._

 _Still, enough laughing was enough, and when he gave her a look Kahlan bit back the mirth and reached up to kiss him instead. That, he much preferred, and kissed her back with enthusiasm._

 _"I suppose presenting each child with a kitten for Yuletide, and not making sure they were all of one sex, was not our brightest idea," his wife murmured against his lips, straightening his hair with one hand._

 _"No," Darken admitted, but a hint of a smile returned to his lips at the memory. Yuletide had been happy for so many years now, he could almost forget that he'd never known one in the first three decades of his life. "No, it was not."_

 _"It could have been worse." A smirk touched Kahlan's lips as she finally arranged his hair back to its usual state of order. She cocked an eyebrow. "Arianna originally requested baby dragons..."_

 _Darken could do naught but laugh and kiss her again._

-

Richard couldn't believe it. Just couldn't. He'd interrupted Kahlan a dozen times, and all his questions had been answered, but still he _wouldn't_ believe the tale she spun.

Darken Rahl was evil. There was no returning from that, no regaining your soul once lost. Zedd had told him this, and Richard clung to those words.

"I'm not saying he's misunderstood!" Kahlan's last argument had been. Her hands, skin like dried paper over bones, trembled in her lap with the force of her words. "He did terrible things, Richard. Neither he nor I ever denied that. But weren't you listening? Didn't you hear the rest of the story as well?"

Perhaps he hadn't. Richard had merely shaken his head and walked off, needing to catch his breath. No, perhaps she was right, and he hadn't listened at all.

How could he, when the story was all about her falling in love with the most evil man in the world? Did she expect him to nod and smile as he watched the woman he loved speak of a man he hated with unfeigned _affection?_

He didn't know how to explain any of this, and yet it hurt all the same. Richard knew he had been selfish to think that he alone could be more important than the world to a woman like Kahlan. She was a force beyond anything he could understand—beyond anything anyone could understand—and to reduce her to a simple all-encompassing love was wrong.

Yet even as he knew that, his heart betrayed him, and ached with jealousy and loss. The longer she spoke, the more he felt the weight of these fifty years she lived in this world. It wasn't just about Darken Rahl, it was about her living a life without him. He hadn't even known to mourn her—he didn't even _know_ what had happened. All that she'd suffered, she'd done without even his protective thoughts being sent towards her.

It was mad how much he loved her. Even now, an old woman with barely the strength to stand, he couldn't pull his eyes from her. She was no longer beautiful, but she was _Kahlan_.

Now he stood alone, staring into the full moon that lit the night. The world stayed quiet, peaceful, as his thoughts tumbled around in painful chaos. It was all the same, and yet not.

"Richard?"

Turning, he saw Kahlan walking towards him, using a walking stick to find her way. Full of worry, he rushed to her side. "Here, lean on me. You'll hurt yourself."

"I'm old, I'm not dead yet," she said with a brief smile. Still the same smile, even if it came with a dozen creases now. "Richard..." Her fingers found his cheek, rough with stubble, and the smile widened. Despite the darkness, he could see the cloudiness of her eyes, the toll that age had taken from her as she waited out her lifetime for his arrival. "I always loved you," she whispered at last, stroking his jaw.

He couldn't help but flinch. A thousand shocks had come already tonight, and they made even these words feel foreign.

Kahlan's brow creased. "It's true. I never stopped loving you, Richard."

He swallowed a lump in his throat, shook his head. "Then how could you be happy with _him?_ "

"Do you begrudge me happiness, Richard?" Her tone wasn't unkind, yet there was a sharpness in it.

Richard opened his mouth and then closed it. "No, of course not," he finally said.

"Answer me truthfully. Think about the question."

He bristled. "Kahlan, of course I want you to be happy!"

"Then why does my life make you sad?"

"Because I wanted you to be happy with me," Richard found himself saying before he could hold back, and with the words came all the pain. Every night he'd sat and dreamed of making a home for them, a family, in peace and joy, came back like another bite of pain. He'd wanted nothing but her. Nothing.

"I wanted that too," she answered, a whisper in the dark that he only barely heard. "Spirits, Richard, I spent almost a decade thinking only of how much I missed you. There were distractions, but it always came back to that. And a few years ago, when I lost my husband, my thoughts returned there again. I came here to wait for you."

He stared at her, even knowing she couldn't see his face. "But why? I don't understand..."

Kahlan let out a breath, and brought her hand down to clasp with his. Their fingers tangled, though he was too afraid that she might break to squeeze back. In the moonlight, her white hair seemed to glow, a spirit's halo around a woman too perfect to be real—too perfect to be his, he couldn't help but add to himself.

"Love is a strange thing, Richard," she said quietly, stroking the palm of his hand. “It’s not like a stone that can be possessed by only one person at a time. It’s like a river. No matter how much water you draw from the river and give to someone, there is always more. Yes I loved Darken, and Dahlia, and I loved my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so many friends and companions that I've had through the years. But I still have all the love I ever had for you, Richard. It's still here. Just hearing your voice again, after an entire lifetime...oh Richard, you have no idea how much you still mean to me."

A hitch came into her voice, and she leaned against him, forehead resting against his.

Not for the first time, Richard felt the weight of her title. Mother Confessor. Arbiter of truth and justice, but most importantly truth. She had not lied yet to him, he knew. And so despite the lost feeling in his heart, he pressed a kiss to her wrinkled forehead to let him know that he accepted her words.

"My power is love, Richard. It should not surprise you that I have more of it than even I could have imagined...enough for far more than one man or even two." Kahlan pulled back, and touched his cheek again. "Do you understand?"

"I don't know," he said, but even this blind woman could recognize that it was half a lie, and so he added, "But why Darken Rahl?"

"Come," she said, and squeezed his hand again. "I will take you to the Palace, and maybe it will make more sense there."

Richard didn't understand how that could be. Yet for the first time since being thrown into this future, he _wanted_ things to start making sense. He wanted to understand this Kahlan that he had never known.

-

 _This year, the anniversary was too much to bear. Unable to sit still, unwilling to see either husband or children, Kahlan paced the long halls and tried to remember how to breathe. Yet it hurt. Each time air filled her lungs, her heart felt ready to shatter all over again. Why this year? Why now?_

 _Without even knowing what she was doing, she found herself walking to Dahlia's chamber._

 _"You're in pain," the Mord'Sith murmured on seeing her face, rising swiftly to her feet._

 _"No," Kahlan said, shaking her head, eyes stinging. "I need to feel pain, and I don't know how."_

 _A look of comprehension crossed the Mord'Sith's face. Then Dahlia was there, holding her, and the agiel sent fire through her jaw and from there to every inch of her. Kahlan gripped Dahlia's buckles and gasped, and the pain in her heart died in the face of the power of the agiel. She wanted to sob in relief—she wanted to sob in agony._

 _When she'd had enough and the agiel was sheathed, Kahlan kept her arms around Dahlia, her cheek against the woman's shoulder. "Darken told me that he had himself trained with an agiel when he was still a child."_

 _"It's true," Dahlia answered softly. "He wanted to master the pain."_

 _"And to experience it," Kahlan said. "He didn't say it in words but I could see in his eyes that he preferred the pain of the agiel to his father's words. Am I turning into him? Am I losing myself to pain so that I can pretend I don't hurt?"_

 _For a few moments the Mord'Sith didn't answer, and Kahlan's throat tightened like a vice._

 _"No," Dahlia finally said. "Today of all days, you need not deny yourself pain."_

 _Suddenly, a shaky laugh came from Kahlan's throat. She pulled back a little to meet Dahlia's eyes. "I don't know why I asked a Mord'Sith..."_

 _Dahlia smiled, a brief quirk of the lips. "You know me, obviously."_

 _"I do." Kahlan returned the smile. Now her jaw throbbed like her heart did, and she found herself craving something more. Something that started with that warmth in Dahlia's eyes, the warmth that she only acknowledged when asked about it. "I do know you, Dahlia." With that, she leaned in and kissed the Mord'Sith, hands circling her waist._

 _"You don't need to thank me," Dahlia murmured against her lips._

 _But Kahlan could feel both their pulses quickening, and shook her head. "It's not that anymore. It never was, Dahlia."_

 _She kissed her again, and Dahlia returned it with a moan that vibrated through every inch of Kahlan's body. Without a doubt, Kahlan now loved her husband, utterly and completely. Yet he could not meet her every need, and Kahlan didn't blame him for it. Not while she had Dahlia, and the soft warmth and intimate understanding that came with every kiss and caress._

 _There was Darken and there was Dahlia, friends and companions and lovers, and Kahlan was starting to realize that she could not have lived so long without them both._

-

Richard stood before the crypt of Darken Rahl and saw a man he didn't recognize. The Rahl he'd known had been young, strong, dangerous. This statue carved in marble showed a man older than Zedd, worn and yet looking like he'd merely fallen asleep.

Was this what Kahlan had meant? Had their marriage truly changed the villain he'd known into...something else? He shook his head, still incredulous on that point. If it had taken fifty years, perhaps he could have understood. But Kahlan's tale had not taken nearly so many years.

Wondering if it was impossible to understand what had happened—and a part of him still wanting to believe that Kahlan had been deceived somehow—Richard let his eyes wander around the crypt. Darken's tomb was not alone, and he glanced to those on either side.

One, no more than a tombstone, was covered in the same fresh flowers that marked Darken's grave. It had only one word on it, _Morgan_ , and the dates of birth and death were the same. Calculating the years, Richard had to swallow hard. A baby. This was the grave of Kahlan's baby.

Footsteps behind him made him whirl around, only to see Dahlia, the Mord'Sith who accompanied Kahlan and guided her steps. "What are you doing here?"

"Here to offer explanation." She waved a hand in his direction. "Kahlan has spent too much time down here to realize what it must look like to a stranger."

Richard swallowed, and had to nod slightly. "Who...who was Morgan?"

Dahlia bowed her head. "Lord and Lady Rahl's third child. She died during the birth, and it broke both their hearts."

"Oh." It sounded pathetic, but Richard didn't know what else to say. He glanced back to the tombstone, and to the statue of Darken Rahl. A man who had not only fathered children with Kahlan, but lost one with her. Could such pain be quantified, he wondered?

"And the other one," Dahlia offered, gesturing to the other side of Darken's tomb. "Natalia. She was the fifth to survive birth, but a fever took her before she turned two years old. Had there not been great love between Lord and Lady Rahl at that point, I believe they would have broken to the core." Dahlia's voice had gone quiet, distant, and a flicker of grief crossed her face.

Richard couldn't draw his eyes from her. In a way, she reminded him of Denna. That side of Denna that he had seen only for brief glimpses when her guard slipped. This woman was a Mord'Sith, certainly, but she'd given up nearly every guard. There was a peace about her that was almost intoxicating.

"How many children survived?" he finally asked, curiosity overcoming the difficulty of this situation.

"Arianna—who is now Lady Rahl. Irene, Nicholas, Sophia, and then Nina was the last save for the bastards."

Richard frowned and cocked his head.

"Joseph was an accident, when Lord Rahl was with Mistress Garen. And then I bore them a daughter, Muriel, for other reasons. Private ones."

So many...so many children. As they'd walked into the palace, young men and women had called out to 'Queen Kahlan', and she'd rebuked them with a smile and said that 'grandmother' was quite good enough. Richard had felt as if he didn't belong at all. These people, his own age, some looking more like Kahlan and others more like Rahl, stared at him as if he was a stranger. He was. This world wasn't his.

"They were a happy family?" he asked, after a moment trying to imagine what the House of Rahl might have looked like when full of Kahlan and Darken's children.

"As happy as a family could be," Dahlia replied with a nod. "Sometimes there was chaos, and sometimes the outside world threatened them with war, but there was love and kindness."

She, too, spoke the truth. Somehow Richard knew it as he looked into her soft eyes. He envied her as much as he envied Rahl, for sharing with Kahlan what he had always wanted. And yet, for all that, he also wished that he had been there. To see it, to share it, to make it even more. Kahlan had been happy, impossible though it seemed.

What more did he want from life?

"Kahlan is waiting," Dahlia said after a few moments of silence. "She has more to say to you."

Richard nodded. His thoughts still spun out of control in his head, but the pieces were ready to fall into place.

-

 _She spent the last night with her head pillowed on his chest, eyes too dry for tears. In the last moments, though, he sent her and Dahlia away. Arianna, hair now as grey as her gown, took his hand._

 _Kahlan leaned on Dahlia and left them alone. D'Hara seemed to hold its breath for a few hours, and then finally Dahlia let out an aged breath, thick with emotion. A Mord'Sith could always sense the magic in her agiel shifting._

 _Arianna came from her father's room, eyes blue and glistening with tears and with the Rahl signet on her finger._

 _"Lady Rahl," Dahlia murmured._

 _"Lady Rahl," Kahlan whispered._

 _But unlike when she was a child, the title no longer gave the eldest Rahl a thrill. Tears began to fall, and she hastened to choke out, "I'll speak to the tombsman now" before rushing away._

 _Kahlan, glad for Dahlia's support as her limbs started to tremble, rested her cheek against the Mord'Sith's shoulder. "You'll come with me, won't you?"_

 _"Anything for my queen," Dahlia said, pressing a kiss to Kahlan's silvered hair._

 _They no longer said 'I love you'. Say words too many times, and they lost all meaning--or became too strong. But that night, Kahlan slept cradled in the arms of her Mord'Sith. Fifty years of marriage come to an end, and outside fireworks still burst in reverence to Darken Rahl's passing and Arianna's ascent._

-

Richard found Kahlan sitting in the Garden of Life by a bubbling fountain, letting her fingers trail in the pool so that the fish could nibble at them. The look on her face was one he could imagine his Kahlan, young Kahlan, making...only not here in D'Hara.

"Richard, is that you?"

"Yes, I'm here." He came to sit beside her, letting out a breath. "Dahlia talked to me. I think I understand a little more of what happened. Not exactly, but..."

Kahlan shook her head. "No, I don't mean for you to understand everything. That's not the point. It wouldn't be useful."

"The point? There's a point?" Richard was back to being confused.

Reaching for his hand, finding it surprisingly quickly for a blind woman, Kahlan placed it between hers and took a deep breath. "When Darken first forced me to marry him, I planned that our child would help you reset time so that you could defeat him. My plan changed, but the beginning goes the same way."

He made a confused sound and chewed on the inside of his lip. "Kahlan, you're not making sense again."

"Darken Rahl is your brother."

Richard stared at her. She must have sensed the tension in his hand, for she didn't move or make a sound. "What?"

A weary, pained shadow crossed over her face. "Zedd was your grandfather, you know. Now, Richard, I must tell you about the rest of your family..."

-

 _"A healthy girl!" the midwife called._

 _With a soft cry of delight, Kahlan wrapped her arms around Darken Rahl. Irene, first of their children to take a mate, was now a mother herself._

 _"I am a grandfather," Darken murmured against her shoulder._

 _"As I am a grandmother." Kahlan followed her words with a laugh, but there was a hint of bitterness._

 _She wondered if he remembered when Sophia had been small and asked why she didn't have a grandfather like her best friend Callie. There was no kind way to tell a four-year-old that their grandfathers had been selfish, cruel men. There was no time when their children should have to know the abuse their parents had suffered._

 _"What is the proper behavior for a grandfather?" Darken asked with blanket curiosity._

 _Since their own experience—of being used for power and being treated as a distortion of nature—could provide no answer, Kahlan took a while before answering. "Love, I suppose."_

 _"The answer to everything." He said it mockingly, but there was more beneath that tone. There always was. It was why she loved him._

-

He was shaking his head, pulling his hand from hers to rub at his brow. All this was giving him a headache. "Maybe it makes sense, _maybe_ , but what does it have to do with anything?"

"Richard, were you always this obtuse?"

He blinked, seeing her lips twitching with frustration. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

"Then let go of your preconceived notion of Darken Rahl, and listen to what I know. I lived with him for fifty years, I knew him better than anyone alive." The surety on her face, and the fierce determination he remembered, was enough for Richard to go quiet and wait for her to continue. "Darken made some despicable choices, yes, but surely you can see that it wasn't easy for him from the beginning. Think of your own life, Richard...who would you be if you had no one who loved you, who cared for you, who taught you what was right?"

"It's not that simple," Richard protested, but only mildly. Truth be told, he couldn't imagine such a life.

"Perhaps. But for me it was. I gave Darken Rahl a second chance, a third chance, and a fourth. I gave him mercy, and he repaid me with goodness in the end."

Goodness. The word hung in the air like the mist from the fountain. So sweet, so tempting. Yet applied to Darken Rahl...Richard still grimaced when trying to make it fit.

Kahlan sighed. "You don't need to believe me about the results, Richard. I had to live them to believe them. But just listen to me when I say that Darken Rahl deserves a chance. There is worth in him. There is the capacity for good deeds, for love, for leadership that kept D'Hara and the Midlands united for half a century. If a man has all that potential, does he really deserve damnation?" She reached for his hand again, squeezed it.

 _You're only saying this because you fell in love with him,_ part of Richard wanted to reply. The jealous part, the human part. For her sake, he quenched the emotions and turned to rationale. His mind and his conscience came together on this point, grudgingly. "He's still killed and tortured hundreds of people..."

"Sometimes we need to forgive people who don't deserve it," Kahlan said, voice soft. "Not for their sake, but for ours. For the future. If life was truly just, we would all end in misery and the Keeper would win. Sometimes forgiveness leads to peace." She swallowed, trembling slightly. "Richard, I lived and loved Darken Rahl for most of my life. Not everyone has that opportunity. I'm not saying he was the easiest person to love...but I did love him. I still do, even now that he is gone from me. If I could go back with you and Cara, I would want to give him a chance to do things better, to not make so many mistakes. When I think of Darken, I think of how he was only a few weeks before falling ill for the last time: a dutiful ruler, a doting grandfather, a kind husband. I don't know how many thousands of lives he blessed during our reign, but I know they were as many as the ones his evil once hurt, if not more. Blessings don't atone for evil, but they count for something. Oh Richard I believe they count for something."

He took a deep breath, and gently squeezed her trembling hand. Hatred couldn't last, when she spoke to him like this. While he might not yet believe in her philosophy, he wanted to. There was a beauty on her face that he yearned to feel, more than the hatred that had gathered in his belly over the past year. "What do you want me to do?" he finally asked.

She let out a sigh. "I suffered too much loss in this world to think it the ideal one, and especially if it means abandoning you here. I will help you back to your own time, you and Cara. And once you're there..." The first true smile crossed Kahlan's face, her eyes almost disappearing in wrinkles. "Be just...but not too just. Show love and understanding where you can. Don't let hate rule over everything. Remember that in at least one world, it all worked out for the best in the end."

Richard laughed, though not comfortably. "You make it sound so easy."

She shook her head, suddenly looking all her eighty-four years. "Oh, never easy. Harder than anything I've ever done."

And when Richard looked into her face, and saw the peace and the hope there, along with the lines that grief had made, he felt his entire heart give in. For her sake, he would take the hard path. For D'Hara, for the Midlands, for the brother whom life had thrown beneath a cart, for the Mord'Sith who deserved appreciation and respect.

"I'll do it, Kahlan," he whispered, leaning closer and wrapping an arm around her frail shoulders. "I'll try forgiveness."

She smiled, and kissed him softly on the lips. "I trust you."

-

That night, Richard slept long and hard in a bed of his own, and Cara slept in a room opposite his own. He hadn't been told what Cara had experienced, but the sober expression on her face that evening had given him an idea. The Mord'Sith was an unknown to him, but he hoped she might be an ally once they returned to the present. After all, if she wasn't, he might never get the chance to put Kahlan's plan into action.

This Kahlan. Soon this world, full of struggles and losses and mistakes, would be gone forever. Life would start anew. Richard, Kahlan, Darken, Cara, Dahlia...all of them would have a second chance.

Richard found that he liked the idea of second chances after all. Even undeserved ones. Zedd might say he was a naive boy, and so might his own Kahlan, but he would know better. The darkness of this world would be cleansed, and he would carry the legacy of its light.

No world could be perfect, but _better_ was an ideal worth striving for.

The next day, once again in West Granthia, Richard felt like the Seeker of Truth at last. He knelt before the Boxes of Orden, facing a Kahlan full of wisdom and authority like he'd never seen before.

"Are you ready?" she asked, staring at him with blind eyes, hand ready to clasp his throat.

Cara stood barely a foot behind him, agiel drawn and wailing near his ear.

Richard took a deep breath, and filled his thoughts with love—and for the first time, it was not only Kahlan whom he tried to love.

"I'm ready," he said.

The Boxes came together in a rush of power. Kahlan's hand around his throat filled him with Confession. Cara's agiel sent pain coursing through every vein.

Pain and bright light filled his field of view once again and time was rewritten. The world was reborn. Richard could hear it sing with potential, and he almost smiled.

The End


End file.
